


The Wrong Side of Reality

by pardonmeforyelling



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, major character death but none of it is permanent because time travel, very brief mentions of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pardonmeforyelling/pseuds/pardonmeforyelling
Summary: Tom is stuck in a loop of the final days on Durdan Lane, with no end in sight.He needs help to set it right, and unfortunately there's only one person he can ask.





	1. Chapter 1

Tom wishes things didn't have to change.

And so, they don't.

Sometimes Tord doesn't pull the trigger. Sometimes Edd and Matt never see the robot, and eventually the wanted posters all disappear, and they go on adventures like normal.

And then Tom wakes up on his bed at the asscrack of dawn to hear Matt and Edd preparing for the fishing trip.

Again.

And again.

Sometimes he doesn't go, just feigns sick and tells them to go without him. He doesn't sell the couch, doesn't get the harpoon gun, and can't blow up the robot if he can't convince Tord to stay.

Those are the worst. Sometimes the rocket actually kills him.

He never figures out what happens to Edd and Matt in those loops, but he hopes they're okay.

He thinks about that time Edd came back from a dystopian future to try and take himself out in advance, and wonders nauseously if he goes on to do that in _those_ timelines too, with only one friend to chase after him now.

Tord always manages to break into his room when he avoids the fishing trip, though. Tom has taken to playing hookie nearly every time now, just to see if maybe once Edd will catch him first.

But Tom had been the one to round the corner and make a ruckus in the first place. When the hallway remains quiet, Edd just stays in the kitchen with Matt, or in the living room trying to decide what to do about the lack of a sofa, until their voices get his attention.

Sometimes the Tord that comes through his bedroom door is different. One time he already had the robot arm.

That encounter left Tom mangled, bleeding to death on the floor while Tord calmly opened the door to his workshop, sliding straight into his robot without a word as Edd and Matt rush in, and blowing the house to rubble around them without so much as a ‘how do you do’.

Tom has nightmares about that one fairly often.

One time around he fell asleep after Edd and Matt left to fish, and jolted awake from that very recollection to see a Tord in front of him looking far too young, wearing one of his old black hoodies.

That was an interesting loop to say the least. Even when that Tord scowled at him, it felt like sun on a warm spring day compared to the lifeless stare the cybernetically-enhanced Tord had given him as he maimed him.

Sometimes he doesn't confront Tord as he leaves, just takes his harpoon gun, sits on the outskirts of the neighborhood, and shoots him out of the sky like a clay pigeon.

More often than not, Tord dies in these loops. That used to disturb Tom more than it does now. But sometimes he survives, scrapes himself out of the wreckage clutching one mangled body part or another- almost always his right arm, and Tom doesn't know what to make of that.

Sometimes his goons get to him first, and spirit him away to become a dictator to rule them all. Whatever. Tom never has to live to see it anyway, so what does it matter?

And sometimes Tom gets there first, and even more rarely with Matt and Edd on his heels.

Usually when they beat the soldiers there- something with P’s, Tom can't remember through the haze of booze and time- they can make Tord come to the apartment building with them and start over.

But occasionally Tord will pull a Kalashnikov from out of seemingly nothing and mow them down remorselessly. Or he’ll stall until that old red car pulls up and they all get dragged away.

Sometimes Tom will play the days exactly as he remembers it: he goes fishing, harpoons the whale, gets them kicked out of the lake, pretends to be surprised when he sees Tord, doesn't have to pretend to be furious when Tord acts like an ass, storms out, and storms back in for the final confrontation.

Then he can pretend like it's all back to normal for a few days in the flat until he wakes up back in the house that ought to be cinder and rubble and do it all over again.

Eventually he has a breakdown, immediately spiraling into a panic attack when he sees his room, prompting Matt and Edd to cancel the trip on his behalf, opting to sit at home and watch movies instead.

And… Tord doesn't show. Tom spends the whole day a nervous wreck trying to figure out how everything will happen this time around, and it just… doesn't.

Whatever opening Tord had seen when they left to go fishing, he never finds again, because Tom spends almost an entire month in that loop with his friends, never catching so much as a glimpse of a red hoodie. He wonders why it never occurred to him to make the others stay home too.

But then one day he wakes up to the sound of Matt dropping the tackle box with a muffled curse, and he doesn't have to pretend to have a stuffy nose when Edd comes to wake him up, because he spends the short-lived morning crying into his pillow, missing that brief sense of normalcy.

He kills himself in a few loops, after that. He plunges into the lake, or doesn't run from the hail of bullets, or drops into the robot while Matt and Edd are gone and self-destructs it.

But eventually it stops being cathartic and just feels pathetic every time he wakes up right where he left off, so he stops.

Stops moving, stops trying, stops doing anything. Hopes maybe he'll starve, or just rot away, but every timeline is a fresh reset for everything but his memory.

He spends several loops just laying on his bed, never moving, or speaking, or doing anything to stop Tord.

And strangely, the other looks gradually more and more concerned throughout the loops. The first time he takes it as a green light to just steal the robot and go.

But around the fourth one he looks nearly distraught, trying to figure out what's wrong, calling in Matt and Edd and making up some excuse for his sudden appearance in his old room.

Just when Tom was about to get concerned, or even consider he may finally be making progress, he’s confronted in the next timeline by a Tord with an expression much like the one with the robot arm.

He sees Tom, lying corpse-like on the bed, and calmly steps over, drawing a gun. When Tom doesn't even have the energy to look surprised, Tord presses the muzzle to his forehead and pulls the trigger.

Tom wakes up feeling lighter after that. He indulges himself in one normal loop, this time getting a gash on his leg instead of his arm, and finding Tomee Bear in pieces instead of Susan.

When Tom falls asleep in his one-bedroom flat and wakes up in his room in the house on Durdan Lane, he does so with resolve.

He stays home again, this time pretending to be hungover, and waits.

Instead of fiddling at the door, he's greeted by a loud knock. “Thomas?” a familiar voice calls. “Paul didn't see you leave with the others, are you getting drunk in my room?”

“Why don't you pick the lock like you always do and figure out, smartarse?” Tom snaps back, heart beating quick. This hasn't happened before. Maybe this is his chance.

Tord scoffs, and after a much shorter period of time than usual- Edd and Matt aren't even home yet- the door pops open.

Tord stands there, staring petulantly with his hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, and raises a brow. “Fishing didn't appeal to you?” he asks, sounding somewhat bored.

Tom sighs. “Okay, look. I’m gonna shoot straight with you, and you have to listen, got it?”

Tord wrinkles his nose. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm looping through time,” Tom explains. “Sometimes it's just a day, or a week, and I've gone as long as a month, but I always wake up here, on this day, and I always have to deal with your shit.”

Tord starts to open his mouth, but Tom barrels on. “I know you're working on time travel.”

Tord blanches, but doesn't say anything.

“I know, because future versions of Edd and Matt and I time traveled back to us a few years after you left. Said they got it from Red Leader. Which is you, isn't it?”

Tord doesn’t reply, but his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly.

“I need your help,” Tom continues. “And you know I wouldn't say that unless I was really fucking serious. I want to be done with this, but I can't figure out how.”

The front door opens and closes, bringing with it the sound of Edd and Matt chatting away, so Tord quietly shuts the door to Tom’s room. “And what do I get out of this?” he asks.

“I'll let you take the robot,” Tom tries. “I won't say anything, I'll take Edd and Matt out somewhere and you can just go. I don't care what you want to do with it.”

Tord looks almost impressed. “So, you know about my mech? And what normally happens, if I don't simply take it?” Tord asks.

“I shoot you out of the sky with a harpoon gun, the robot blows up, and you lose an arm and an eye.” Tom says bluntly. “But this time I don't have the harpoon gun because I didn't sell the couch to pirates.”

Tord snorts. “Classic stupid Tom,” he says with a sneer.

Tom shrugs it off. “Look, either way I can't stop you. You can just take the thing now or stay and help for a few days.”

Tord looks thoughtfully at the wall hiding the hidden lab, so Tom adds, “If you do take the robot now, can you at least take me out back and shoot me like the lame horse I am at this point? I'd like to get to a loop where I might be able to figure this out.”

Tord sighs. “Fine. This isn't a critical mission, I have some time to spare. It’s a rare treat to see you admit to being as pathetic as you are, so why not indulge?”

Tom scowls at him. “What a good Samaritan.”

There's another knock at the door, startling both of them. “Tom?” Edd's voice asks. “Who are you talking to?”

Tord raises a brow, but Tom ignores him, walking over to the door and poking his head out. “M’self,” he murmurs, pitching his voice low as if he had a migraine he was trying to nurse. “Sorry.”

Edd shrugs. “Lamenting your poor drinking choices?” he asks humorously.

“Something like that,” Tom dodges.

Edd waves a hand. “Alright, I'll leave you be. Feel better soon.”

Tom nods and shuts the door, turning back to Tord.

“Keeping me to yourself, Thomas?” Tord asks slyly.

Tom wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Nope,” he says, stepping over to the defaced portrait and pulling it off the wall to pull the hidden lever. “I just don't want Edd and Matt getting tangled up while we figure this out.”

Tord sighs, looking bored by the suggestion. “Fine fine, all business then.” He steps into the lab, looking over everything curiously.

“So, where do we start?” Tom asks.

Tord looks thoughtful, stuffing his hands back into his hoodie pocket before turning to Tom. “Well, temporal disturbances usually only happen like this when it's something really major.”

Tom raises a brow, looking unimpressed.

Tord sighs. “That means something important needs to change. Have you tried stopping me from taking the robot?”

Tom frowns. “You think that isn't the first thing I tried, jackarse?”

Tord holds his hands up in surrender. “ _Faen_ , sorry. Just trying to help.”

“Well you're doing a shit job of it,” Tom snaps back.

Tord curls his lip, dropping his hands. “Well, you go out and have a nice afternoon with _our_ friends, I'll do some research and tell you what I find later.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tom says flippantly, already out the door and slamming it behind him before Tord can get a word in.

* * *

 

Tom walks back to his room after dinner, a takeout box poorly disguised in his hoodie pocket for Tord. He won't admit it, but he feels slightly guilty for snapping earlier. The guy _did_ agree to help him after all, when they had been at each other’s throats for years.

He opens the door and kicks it shut behind him, looking up to a scene that surprises him.

Tord is sitting at a workbench in the lab, textbooks spread around him with a scribbled-in notebook in the middle, under what looks like an early design of the time travel device his and Matt’s future selves came back with.

Tord looks up at the sound, and makes a slightly bitter face. “Enjoy dinner?” he asks icily.

Tom hums. “It was alright. We got Thai.”

Tord scoffs. Tom remembers Thai was never Tord’s favorite, and then mentally kicks himself for knowing that. Why did he care what the prick liked?

“Lucky for you this place makes a mean garlic fried rice,” Tom says, pulling the container from his pocket, fighting the urge to smirk as Tord perks up.

“No one else ate it?” Tord asks suspiciously.

Tom shrugs. “Garlic gives Edd heartburn, and Matt hasn't been able to stand it since he turned into a vampire.”

Tord looks confused. “Matt turned into a vampire? And what about you?”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Weird shit happens even when you're not around. And my curry came with rice, I didn't need more.” He places the food on the workbench with a plastic-wrapped set of utensils.

Tord looks up, still slightly suspicious. “Right… well. Thanks.” He tears into it almost immediately, practically shoving the rice into his face.

Tom grunts in response and exits the lab, flopping onto his back on the bed. “So, any new hypotheses, Red?”

“Don't call me that,” Tord snaps around his mouthful of food. “And I have a few theories. I know I'm right about needing to change _something,_ but I don't know what yet. You'll have to run me through what you've tried so far.”

Tom sighs, reaching under his bed and retrieving a semi-full flask. He takes a long drink from it and says, “Get ready for a long night then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, i know i promised weekly updates, but so many of y'all were so excited i bumped chapter 2 a day early! plus i kind of wanted my post day to be friday anyway so it works out.
> 
> but i have some other stuff in the works that needs to get posted as well, so i think chapters will stay pretty consistent on friday from here on out. hope you guys enjoy!

The two end up staying awake until the wee hours of the morning, discussing timelines and loops and variables and things that go over Tom’s head entirely. 

When they can hear the birds beginning to sing outside, Tord dismisses him to make a pot of coffee, insisting neither of them are going to get any sleep at this point. 

Tom doesn't argue, deciding caffeine does sound awfully appealing as he drags his body down the hall to the kitchen. 

He stands against the counter as it percolates, staring out into the backyard. He can see now, the seam in the grass marking the hatch to deploy the mech. 

The machine beeps as the carafe fills, and Tom manages to fit almost all of it into four of the biggest mugs they own, holding two in each hand as he makes his way back down the hall. 

He puts two of the mugs down on the workbench and shuffles away to sit on the small staircase, knowing that if he settles on his bed at this point he'd pass out. 

Tord drinks from one of the mugs greedily, not seeming to care that it was still billowing steam. 

Tom sips from his first drink more carefully, blowing over the surface to cool it. 

“So,” Tord starts, breaking the silence. “Were there ever loops where I just… stayed? Without having to be convinced?”

Tom thinks back to that penultimate loop after he gave up, Tord kneeling by his bedside, a hand on his forehead as he begged to know what was wrong. 

He swallows hard as his stomach does a strange flip-flop. That was… one of the weirder ones, to say the least. “Yeah,” he says simply, hoping he won't be asked to explain. 

Tord just grunts, either scrawling something down or scratching something out in his notebook. “Did I ever come back without intending to retrieve the robot?”

“No.” Tom says immediately. “Though you weren't always coming back to get it for your army.” 

Tord pauses, looking thoughtful. “Interesting,” he murmurs, this time definitely writing. “Did you ever convince me not to take it in one of those loops?”

Tom nods, then remembers Tord isn't looking at him. “Yeah.”

Tord turns, raising a brow. “And? What happened?”

Tom opens his mouth, throat going dry. “You- you died.” 

Both of Tord’s eyebrows go up. “How?” he asks.

Tom shakes his head, remembering that bloodstained black hoodie. “I don't know. You were just. Dead. I mean, you were shot, but I don't know who by.”

Tord taps at his lower lip with his pen thoughtfully. “And what happened to the timeline?” he asks.

“It looped immediately,” Tom says. “I don't even know what happened to the robot, or the house. I went to bed that night and when I woke up it was- well, it was today. A different today.”

Tord sighs, and takes another long drink from his coffee. Tom follows suit, wondering if this silence feels heavy to Tord too, or if he's just tired of redoing this ad infinitum. 

“And what did you do in the next loop?” Tord asks, now scribbling furiously on a fresh page in the notebook. 

Tom thinks hard, trying to recall the timeline that came after that. “I- I think it was either a normal one, or that was the first time I killed myself.” 

Tord stops writing, and now the silence is deafening. “What?” he asks. 

Tom looks over his shoulder, and Tord is staring at him. Tom shuffles uncomfortably, shifting to sit sideways on the stair as he takes another drink of coffee. “Look, you'd get fucking tired of it too,” he snaps, feeling flighty under the scrutiny. 

Tord seems like he can't decide what to say, and just turns around again, writing in his notebook. 

“Does that give you any more theories?” Tom asks, hoping the sarcasm isn’t too obviously hiding his discomfort.

Tord sighs. “It’s hard to say. I’ll have to come back to this later, when I can look at the big picture again.” He swivels around and cocks his head to the side. “For now I’m just going to go about life as normal. Can’t just stay hidden here forever. Though I may need an excuse for why I’m a day late.”

Tom grunts. “As much as it pains me to say, Edd is usually so excited to see you he probably won’t care why.”

Tord looks surprised at that, and perks up again like he did when Tom returned with food. “Really?”

Tom just grunts again, draining his first cup of coffee.

“There are times when he isn’t excited?” Tord asks.

“Those are usually the ones where you murder me,” Tom says bluntly. 

Tord nods, averting his eyes as he grabs his own mug. “Ah. I see.”

They drink in silence for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. 

“Would it make sense to just go through this like a normal loop?” Tom asks as he gets to the bottom of his second mug.

“Why do you ask?”

Tom stands with a sigh, stretching. “Well, frankly you’re being much more helpful than normal, and if you want to avoid making too many changes, you’ll have to act more like your usual arsehole self.”

Tord glowers at him before gathering up the dirty cups. “How about this,” he says as he approaches the steps, looking down at Tom from the raised section of the lab. “Whatever happens, happens,” he smirks. 

Tom frowns as Tord brushes past him to the bedroom door. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Tord shrugs. “Tell Edd about the robot and send me packing then,” he suggests.

Tom glares at him, and Tord laughs as he nudges the door the rest of the way open and strides into the hall, out of sight.

Tom sighs and moves into the bedroom, pushing the lever back to hide the secret lab once more. 

He’s staring at the spot where the fake wall meets the carpet when he hears Edd’s voice yelp, “Tord!?”

Tom walks quickly to the kitchen in time to hear Edd ask at a more reasonable volume, “How did you get in?”

Tord shrugs as Tom rounds the corner to see him grinning placidly. “Well, Thomas here invited me in for coffee. Isn’t that right Tom?”

Edd turns, looking surprised. “Really?”

Tom shrugs uncomfortably. “It was early. I either needed caffeine or alcohol to put up with his bullshit and I just got over that hangover yesterday.”

Edd chuckles and faces Tord again, stepping forward to pull him in for a hug. “Well, it’s good to see you!”

Tord looks surprised for a split second before he blinks, shit-eating grin returning. “Yes, it’s good to be back!”

Tom shuffles over to brew a second pot of coffee for them all to share before swiping a bottle of vodka from a cupboard. “I changed my mind. I need both.”

Tord let out a single barking laugh, turning towards the fridge, and Edd gives Tom a smile over his shoulder. 

When Tom raises a brow at him, Edd just shakes his head, turning back to Tord. “I guess it’s lucky you showed up when you did, we were out on a fishing trip most of the day yesterday.”

Tord turns with a package of bacon in one hand, and feigns a look of surprise. “Oh, really?” he asks as he moves over to the stove.

“Yeah!” And with that Edd launches into the tale Tom’s lived a dozen times, so he just spikes his coffee and settles down at the table, pretending to listen while he waits for his toast to pop.

Matt wakes up as the smell of sizzling bacon begins to waft through the house, and that’s when the timeline they’re in finally surprises him again. 

Because Matt comes dashing into the room, makes a beeline for Tord, and… scoops him up in a bearhug, spinning him around. “Tord!!”

Tord makes a wheezing sound, squirming in the tight grip. “Matt- Let me down, you goliath-”

Matt laughs, dropping Tord back to his feet. “Sorry! I’ve missed you!”

Tord smiles uneasily, and if Tom didn’t know better he’d just think it was from the sore ribs. “You too.”

“Wait,” Tom says, drawing three pairs of eyes to him. “You remember Tord?”

Matt stares at him blankly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Tom points at the side of his head. “Didn’t you hit yourself with the memory eraser gun?”

Tord frowns. “I haven’t invented a memory erasing device yet. It was slated, but- I never got to it.”

Tom makes a mental note to ask what he invented instead later, but for now just nods at the other three. “Right, my mistake.”

“You sure you didn’t hit yourself with a memory eraser?” Edd asks jokingly. Matt laughs, but over his shoulder, Tom can see the blood drain from Tord's face.

Tom directs a glare at Tord, which is common enough that it doesn’t raise any suspicion. “Yeah. Must’ve.”

Eventually the excitement of Tord's return cools enough for them all to settle at the table, and Tom eats his toast and bacon silently while the other three chatter, catching one another up on everything that’s happened in their lives. Tord tells a story about the job he got “in the big city”, and after about five minutes of pure lies, Tom finally loses his patience and glares him down across the table.

His sentence peters out, and he waves a hand. “Enough about me, I can only speak so much about engineering before it gets repetitive. What’s this about superpowers?”

Edd lets out a laugh, clapping a hand to his forehead. “Oh man. Okay, first I have to tell you about these neighbors that moved in after you left-”   
  


Twenty minutes later the table is mostly cleared except for Tom’s head, which rests on his crossed arms as his eyelids begin to slip shut. Edd is rinsing his cereal bowl out when he turns back to face the table.

“You know, I’m surprised Tom.”

Tom lifts his head, looking at Edd quizzically. “Why’s that?”

“I figured you’d have more of a problem with Tord being back,” he admits. “That’s why I avoided telling you in the first place,” he says sheepishly.

Tom shrugs. “Well, one of us had to take the high road and it wasn’t gonna be him.”

Edd chuckles. “I suppose.” He sets the bowl in the dishwasher and turns back, walking towards the living room. “Are you going to come out and chat, or do you want to keep napping in the kitchen?”

Tom sighs. “I’ll pass.” Then, after a moment he asks, “Uh, where is Tord going to stay?”

Edd taps his chin. “You know, I hadn't thought about it yet.” He ignores Tom’s heavy sigh. “I suppose it depends on whether he wants his old room back or not.”

“But that's my room!” Tom bursts out. He'd be feeling deja vu right now if it weren't for the fact he has actually had to relive similar conversations to this dozens of times over. 

“You can have your old room back!” Edd tries half-heartedly. 

“You turned my room into a swimming pool,” Tom reminds him for what feels like the hundredth time, even though to Edd it's the first time hearing it.

Tom sees Tord step into the kitchen out of the corner of his eye a moment before he speaks. “What, you don't want to be roomies?” Tord jibes. 

Tom turns to gape at him. “ _ What? _ ” 

Tord spreads his arms wide. “It's a large room Thomas! Plenty to share!”

“Oh no, no way-”

“That's a great idea!” Edd interjects. 

Tord claps his hands together once. “Fantastic! It's settled then.”

“Uh, I didn't agree to-” 

“Hey Tord!” Matt calls from the living room, interrupting Tom. “Have you seen Insane Zombie Pirates From Hell 5 yet?”

“There's a fifth one!?” Tord asks excitedly. 

Edd laughs at that, crossing the room to stand next to Tord. “Have you been living under a rock? We have it on blu-ray already!”

Tord flounders for a moment, realizing he doesn't have a decent excuse for missing a new edition of his favorite b-movie blockbuster. “Uh-”

“I'm putting it in!” Matt shouts. “Catch up later, pirate zombies now!!” he insists.

Edd nudges Tord with an elbow. “Well?”

Tord clicks his tongue. “Tch, of course!”

Edd glances over his shoulder. “Tom?”

“Pass,” Tom repeats. “We just watched it for movie night last week, that's enough zombies from hell to last me the rest of the month.”

Edd shrugs. “Suit yourself. C’mon, the opening scene is the best!” He tells Tord, walking over to the couch. 

Tord glances at Tom skeptically. Tom flashes all ten fingers, and points at the clock. It's nine thirty now. 

Tord takes the hint and nods before following after Edd. 

Tom walks into the hall instead, trudging almost zombie-like himself to his room. Thirty minutes isn't nearly enough time to try to wrap his head around all this, but it's better than trying to do it while watching a poorly-acted gorefest of a movie.

Tom is lying on his back in bed when the door opens a few minutes past ten. “You know, I was really enjoying the movie,” Tord complains.

Tom peels his eyes open and sits up. “Yeah, well if you can help me figure this out you'll have all the time in the world to watch it.”

Tord clicks his tongue and steps over to the red lever, pulling it and stepping into the lab. “Fair enough.”

Tom slumps off the bed and follows him in as Tord takes a seat at the workbench. 

“So, what are these theories you had in mind?” Tom asks.

Tord sighs, cracking open his notebook again. “Do you want to hear the ones that bode well for this timeline first?” he asks.

Tom takes a moment to think before saying, “I prefer to open with the bad news.”

Tord nods, flipping back a few pages. “My first thought was that maybe you were trying to change too much. Perhaps you needed to find a loop that was close to the original and just make a minute change somewhere.”

Tom frowns. “And?”

“And, remember what I said about major temporal disturbances?”

Tom narrows his eyes, realizing he’s been awake for well over 24 hours now. “Maybe.”

Tord rolls his eyes. “Well, this wouldn’t be happening if you only had to make a small change. It’s something more important than that.”

“So, it doesn’t matter what kind of loop I start from?” he asks. 

Tord shakes his head. “Not necessarily. You still have to be able to make the change the timeline requires. Or else it’s essentially doomed to fail.”

Tom ponders this for a moment. “Like when I looped immediately after you died in that one timeline? It just… gave up, because I couldn’t fix it?” he asks.

Tord looks thoughtful at that, and scrawls something down. “... Yes, that’s a good point. Though I don’t know what it expects  _ me _ to be able to change,” he grumbles.

Tom ignores that, pressing on. “Then, those loops that dragged on for weeks or months longer than they normally do… there was still hope in those?”

Tord hums and looks up at Tom, his expression strangely pitying. “If your theory is right, then yes.”

Tom sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Great.”

“Don't beat yourself up,” Tord says, though it falls slightly flat. “You're not the one developing time travel.” 

“So why am I the one who has to fix this shit?” Tom asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Tord doesn't respond, instead scratching something down in his notebook. 

As Tom watches him, a light bulb goes off in his head. “What about you?”

Tord looks up, confused. “What  _ about  _ me?”

“Obviously this has something to do with you too,” Tom says. “I mean, if a loop was doomed as soon as you died then…”

Tord sighs, grinding his teeth together slightly. “I'm not sure,” he says, glancing off to one of the books. 

“Bullshit,” Tom snaps, drawing his attention back. “If you know something you have to tell me, or I can make this a living hell for you.”

Tord curls his lip, crossing his arms. “Well clearly it has something to do with me. You're looping around the day I come back, any asshole with two brain cells to rub together can figure that out.”

Tom throws his arms in the air. “Great, glad you took my advice, you being a dickhead again is a real breath of fresh air-” He starts to turn to leave the lab when Tord speaks up again. 

“Thomas, listen to me.” Tom glares at him, but he presses on. “I seriously don't know what's going on. But you've got me curious, and I want to figure it out too.”

There's a tense silence, only the sound of the analog clock in Tom’s (and Tord’s, now) bedroom ticking and the movie playing loudly in the living room. 

“So, whatever it is, it probably has to do with both of us, then?” Tom says stiffly. 

Tord nods. “That definitely narrows it down.”

“Well, lets just keep in mind that killing each other hasn't solved it yet,” Tom says, only partially joking. 

Tord grins at him. “Are you sure? Maybe we should give it a few tries.” 

Tom rolls his eyes. “Unless you can find a way for you to loop too it would be moot, since I’d wake up in an entirely different timeline.”

Tord sighs as if he's been deprived of a great treat. “Fine, fine. Back to the drawing board, then.”

Tom groans. “Just what I wanted to hear.” 

“Well, we can rule out a few things,” Tord encourages, flipping to a clean page of the notebook. “Just keeping the robot from reaching the army isn't enough.”

“Neither is keeping you away from it,” Tom says, worried.

Tord nods, writing quickly. “And neither of us dying changes anything. Have the others ever died?” he asks. 

Tom swallows. “We all did, once. But besides that- no.”

Tord continues scribbling away. “It's just worth noting as a variable.” Tord looks up. “But I'm guessing you'd rather be stuck here than kill one of your friends.” 

Something in Tom’s brain makes him very aware of the fact that Tord’s use of the word ‘friend’ excludes himself entirely, considering Tom has admitted to killing him several times over now. 

Tom nods silently as he wonders why that bothers him, exactly. 

Tord looks unfazed, going back to writing. “And there are loops where I come for the robot, but not for my army?”

“You weren't in charge,” Tom confirms. “You were just an engineer or mechanic or something.”

“But I didn't leave with the mech in that loop?” he asks.

Tom shakes his head. “No. For some reason only you were different in that timeline, and Edd reacted like he always did, which made you want to stay.”

Tord sighs, though Tom can't tell if it's because of his anecdote or the slowly growing list in front of Tord. 

“But you also said there were loops where I looked as if I had already taken the mech?” 

Tom shakes his head. “Not exactly. You were missing your eye and your arm, and you had the prosthetic that looked like the mech, but I guess that could've been any accident.”

Tord sighs, dropping the pen and running his hands through his hair. “How could you change the same thing in all of these that doesn't depend on the robot not reaching the army?”

Tom crosses his arms. “Welcome to my world.”

Tord reaches for the pen again, looking frustrated, when it suddenly skitters to the ground. 

They both look at each other, confused. Tord definitely hadn't touched it, and he hadn't even been moving that quickly to grab it. 

Suddenly, the pen bursts as if snapped in two by an invisible hand, making them both jump. 

“What the hell?” Tord snaps as the ink begins to leak over the tile floor. 

Tom sighs. “Lets just get stuff to clean this up. I'm too tired to deal with weird shit right now.”

Tord grunts. “Agreed.” 

They trek to the bathroom, Tom grabbing a towel and Tord snatching a sponge, bucket, and container of bleach from under the counter. 

Tord mimes drinking it with a deadpan expression as the bucket fills, making Tom snort. 

Tord pours some in the bucket and replaces the bottle before the two make their way back to the bedroom. 

As they set down the cleaning supplies, Tom takes one last curious glance at the mess, raising a brow when something catches his eye. 

“Hey,” he starts, getting Tord’s attention. “Does that… look like writing to you?”

Tord squints and angles his head. “Maybe? What does it say?”

Tom kneels down, looking closer. “I mean, not much, whatever it is.”

Tord moves over to his notebook and pulls out a new pen, looking between the mess and the paper as he traces the smudges, trying to decipher what is spelled in the ink. 

“. RL” he reads. “What does that mean?”

Tom wrinkles his nose, thinking. Why would the pen seemingly leap off the table and explode just to spell out gibberish to them? 

Unless-

His eyes go wide. “It means we have to pay a visit to the neighbors.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa look at that, official chapter count
> 
> i'm about 95% done with this fic, i just have a couple of threads to tie up in the final chapter and then it's all good! i've even started working on some spin-offs of loops mentioned in the first chapter, so lemme know if y'all would be interested in those! 
> 
> thank you all so so much for the lovely feedback, it really means the world to me! enjoy!!

Tom knocks hard on the door and steps back, crossing his arms. 

Tord raises a brow. “You lot really don't get along with these neighbors do you?”

Tom clenches his jaw. “They're arseholes,” he grumbles. Before he can explain further, the door swings open.

The man standing on the other side is wearing a soft red jumper that hangs off one shoulder, and long brown hair that's tied in a knot at the base of his neck. 

He looks confused for a moment before he perks up. “Ah! You must be the neighbors! Sorry I haven't introduced myself yet, just flew in last night.” He has a thick American accent that Tom can't quite place, which only serves to confuse him more. 

The man sticks a hand out, and it's covered in Hello Kitty plasters. “I’m Todd! Nice to meet you!”

Tom shakes the hand. “Tom.”

Tord introduces himself with just a nod. “Tord.”

Todd beams. “Tom and Tord! Well, what can I do you for?”

Tom and Tord share a glance, and Tord shrugs. 

“Uh- I was wondering if Jon was around?” Tom asks. 

Todd’s face crumples, and he sags against the door slightly. “Oh. I guess y’all weren't close then?”

Tom frowns. “What do you mean?”

Todd sighs. “Jon’s, uh- … Jon’s been dead for a couple years now. My fault, there was an accident, and-” he bites his lip, eyes downcast. “Sorry. If you need to talk to somebody, I can grab Mark, or-”

Tom holds a hand out. “No, it's fine. Sorry to bother you. And sorry about Jon.” 

Todd gives him a sad smile. “Me too. Well, you two have a good day.”

“Right,” Tom says, feeling slightly off-kilter now. This was… definitely weird. 

Todd closes the door, and Tom turns to Tord, who has his brows raised. “Well? What the hell was all that about?” 

Tom rakes a hand through his hair and turns back down the front path, walking towards their house. “Jon is trying to tell us something. I don't know what, but I think it's worth figuring out.”

Tord sighs. “Alright. Shouldn't take too long. I've decoded more complex messages than this one.”

When they get back in the house, Tom deftly evades Edd’s invitation to Tord to check out the second story they added after he left, knowing that if they go up there they'll spend the whole day recounting old adventures they went on in the eight years Tord was gone. 

He makes up a quick excuse about needing to reorganize his room to fit Tord’s belongings in there- not a complete lie, but definitely not top priority- and herds Tord down the hall before Edd can argue. 

Though as Tom prods Tord into moving along, Edd gives him a cheeky smirk that Tom thinks might be worse for his spiraling anxiety about this whole mess than wasting twelve hours would have been. What went on in this timeline that he doesn't know about? 

Tord makes a beeline for his workbench, flipping through pages and scratching down a few small phrases. 

“Alright,” Tom says, crossing his arms as he steps into the lab. “What's going on in this timeline that's making everyone act so weird?” 

Tord looks up with a frown. “What do you mean?”

Tom sighs and drops his arms. “I mean, clearly a lot of shit went down before I woke up yesterday that made this timeline different from mine.”

Tord blinks, his expression inscrutable. “Well, I can't tell you considering I didn't come from your timeline.” 

Tom rolls his eyes. “I mean Matt remembers you when he usually doesn't, Jon is already dead, there's some weird neighbor, and Edd keeps making these  _ faces  _ at me-”

Tord looks amused for a second before his face goes blank again. “What kind of faces?” 

“Like he knows something I don't, or knows I think I’m getting away with something, but I don't even know what-” He cuts himself off, frustrated. 

Tord shrugs, barely restraining a smirk. “Well, I think you’ll have to ask Edd about that one.”

“Thanks, that’s really helpful,” Tom grumbles, sitting on the desk chair. 

“I try,” Tord replies, turning his attention back to the notebooks.

Tom looks at the spot where the pen had burst open, feeling weirdly… guilty. Normally it's his fault if he can't stop Tord and that rocket kills Jon, so he must have something to do with it in this loop too. 

He sighs, wondering if maybe it's just some sort of sick universal constant. Maybe he always has to die. 

But, something occurs to Tom. If the rocket doesn't kill Jon, Matt and Edd wouldn't mistake the body for his, making them go after Tord. So something is different about this one. Something was changed before it even started. 

If Jon is already dead, it's because the rocket wasn't going to kill him this time around. Tom frowns and turns to Tord, who's still bent over his notebook, scribbling away. 

Feeling Tom’s eyes on him, he peers up. “What?”

“Did you come here to help me?” Tom asks quietly. 

Tord’s face is a mask, intentionally blank as he stares at Tom. No trace of confusion, or thought, or even surprise. 

“I asked you a question,” Tom hisses, leaning in closer. 

Tord scowls. “Why would I go out of my way to help you when you're such an ungrateful bastard?” he snaps. 

Tom jabs a finger at him. “You have something to do with this. You're the one working on time travel, you're the one who takes over the fucking world-”

Tord smacks his hand away, now fully snarling up at him. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Thomas?”

“Torturing me like you always do!” Tom shouts. “Is this your idea of a sick game?”

Tord shakes his head. “You're delusional. Go get some sleep. I'll move my shit out of my car into  _ our _ room, and we’ll reconvene later.”

Tom curls his lip. “I think not. I think you're going to sit there and tell me what's going on right now.”

“You think I have any clue what this is!?” Tord bursts out, throwing his arms wide. “You think I'm killing myself over this code from your dead neighbor because I know what's going on?”

He stands, getting in Tom’s face and making the other lean back. “You watch it or I’ll take that robot and blow the house to smithereens so you can start from scratch. Maybe I'll be a little nicer next time around,” Tord sneers. 

When Tom doesn't reply, just stares at him furiously, Tord brushes past him towards the bedroom door. “Sleep, Thompson.” he commands. 

And with that, he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

Tom sighs, running a hand through his hair. What an asshole. 

A glance at the clock in the adjoining room tells Tom it's already half past three. He's been up for thirty-three hours. 

He shuffles into the bedroom and drops onto his bed, not bothering to change or get under the covers.

He closes his eyes, and is out like a light in a matter of minutes.

* * *

 

When he wakes up, it's midnight. He groans, sitting upright. He's been in these clothes for nearly two days straight now, and he can feel it. 

As he stands to change, he takes in the room around him. There's a bed pushed against the adjacent wall- how they got it in here without waking him Tom will never know- and Tord is bundled under the covers, sleeping deeply.

Tom takes that as a go-ahead to change, and does so quickly, tossing the dirty clothes into his laundry basket. 

The wall to the lab is shut, but Tom opens it without hesitating.

Apparently Tord was in just as desperate need of sleep as Tom was, because he doesn't stir as the wall slides up.

Tom steps in, walking up the stairs to Tord’s workbench. He flips on a table lamp, peering down at the notebook left open. 

Jon’s message is written at the very top, and below it is innumerable translations Tord has tried. 

The first thing that catches Tom's eye is “RL = Red Leader???” surrounded by scratched out words. 

He hums thoughtfully and continues reading, eyes scanning around at random.

Next Tord tried to discern the meaning of the dot, writing;

 

period red leader?

dot red leader? 

dot RL

Below that is morse, translating it to “E RL”

Then the whole message in morse, “. .-. .-..”

The next few lines take a moment to decipher, before Tom realizes it's Braille.

Then a small section where Tord tried connecting the dots in the Braille translation, to no avail.

 

As Tom stares at the notebook he hears shuffling behind him, making him whip around. 

Tord stands behind him in his hoodie and boxers, looking tired and frustrated. “Enjoying my struggle?” he asks venomously.

Tom just shakes his head. “I want to figure this out too,” he reminds him.

Tord sniffs, looking disbelieving. “Well, you sure have a funny way of showing it.” 

Tom looks back to the notebook. “What happened to decoding complex messages?” he asks.

Tord sighs, moving closer. “Yes, well we usually have  _ some _ code to go off of. It takes longer when you're going in blind.” 

Tom looks at the message again and blinks as it settles into place. “Stop Red Leader,” he says.

Tord narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“In telegrams, they didn't use periods, they just wrote out ‘stop’,” Tom explains. “What if that's Jon’s way of writing ‘stop’ as quickly as possible?”

Tord rolls his eyes. “But if I recall, you've tried stopping me before, and look how far it's gotten you.”

Tom shakes his head. “It doesn't say ‘stop Tord’. It says stop Red Leader. If you don't go back, someone will just replace you, won't they?”

Tord's eyes go wide in understanding before he scowls. “I’d like to believe my army would be nothing without me, but I can think of a few power hungry individuals who think otherwise.” 

Tom nods. “So it's not about stopping you. It's about stopping the army.”

They stew in silence for a moment before Tord says, “This just got a lot more complicated.”

Tom sighs and nods in agreement. 

After that they both shuffle back off to their respective beds, deciding to deal with this new theory in the morning. 

Tom has a hard time falling asleep after sleeping through the afternoon, but he drops off around two am and doesn't wake up again until eight. 

It's still too early for anyone else to be up but them, so Tord and Tom take the notebook out into the kitchen with them. 

“So, what does stopping Red Army have to do with both of us?” Tord mutters, mostly talking to himself. 

Tom crosses his arms and leans his chair back on two legs. “Well, most everything up to this point was my responsibility, so that part’s up to you.”

Tord glowers at him but doesn't argue, just writes something quickly. “Really your job is keeping the timeline together. So if I leave to dismantle Red Army it's up to you to keep things as they normally are after I leave.” He pauses, flipping back a few pages before asking, “Which is…?”

Tom sighs. “Well, normally the house is gone so we all get our own flats in town.”

Tord frowns. “But you all stay together?”

Tom nods. 

Tord hums thoughtfully, continuing to write. “Then I guess all you can do is make sure nothing gets in the way.” 

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“If Matt decides next week he's going to move in with some girlfriend then you tie his ass to a chair until I get back,” Tord deadpans. “I don't know what's going to happen after I leave, only you do.” 

Tom hums thoughtfully. 

There’s a quiet pause where the only sound is brewing coffee and pencil scratching on paper as Tom thinks. “So, are you going to take the robot?”

Tord looks up, raising an eyebrow.

“To ‘dismantle’ your army or whatever.”

Tord taps his chin with the pencil. “It would make the most sense. It was my mission after all, and more firepower never hurts."

Tom snorts before standing to grab a mug from the cupboard.

“Thomas, if I was just trying to take my mech without you stopping me I would’ve done it when you were dead asleep yesterday. Why is this so hard for you to believe?”

Tom slams the mug down harder than necessary, and yanks the coffee pot free. “Oh, I don’t know,” he snarls. “Maybe because I’ve had to deal with you trying to kill me what feels like a hundred times over now?”

“There wasn’t a single timeline where you would’ve trusted me?” Tord asks skeptically as Tom fills his mug.

Tom clenches his hand around the handle as he shuffles over to the fridge for cream, knuckles going white. “That’s beside the point. You aren’t the same Tord.”

Tord opens his mouth, but then seems to think better of whatever he was going to say, because he just sighs instead, pushing himself up to get his own cup of coffee. “Fine. But do you really have a choice?”

The handle of the mug breaks in Tom’s hand, sending the cup careening to the floor, shattering and sending hot liquid all over the floor and their feet and legs. “You're such an arsehole,” Tom snaps, ignoring the boiling liquid on his pants. “We’re going grocery shopping today. You find an excuse to stay home and do whatever the hell you want.” 

He storms out before Tord can say anything, fuming to himself. He doesn't know why, after all this time, the other still gets on his nerves so easily. It's almost more irritating than Tord himself. Almost. 

He's almost back to the safety of his- now shared- room when Edd’s door opens. “Is everything alright? I heard a crash,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. 

Tom heaves a sigh. “Tord.” He says by way of explanation. 

Edd frowns, and crosses his arms. “What happened?”

“What do you think? What always happens, he pissed me off, I broke something."

“Did you smash another bottle?” Edd asks in an accusing tone. 

“No!” Tom protests. “It was a mug.” When Edd continues to look unimpressed, Tom pulls his own bedroom door open and steps through. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he complains. 

“Tom-” Edd tries, but the door has already slammed into place in its frame. Tom can hear his housemate sigh on the other side before his footsteps recede down the hallway. 

Now it's just a matter of killing time and making sure Tord doesn't bother him in the meantime before they leave to go shopping. 

And Tom knows one sure fire way to kill two birds with one stone. 

He opens the complicated safe on his side of the room, drags his amplifier out from the closet, and rifles through pages of tabs while humming happily. 

As the bass lines from some of his favorite songs fill the room, Tom can almost forget the sense of impending doom hanging over him like a guillotine blade about to drop.

 

After a little over an hour, a knock on the door makes Tom sit up, Susan sliding from his chest to his lap. “Come in.” 

Edd pokes his head through, raising a brow. “Tord said he didn't want to come, are you going to stay holed up in here or-?”

Tom sets Susan down on the bed, shaking his head vigorously. “Nope, no if he's staying here I’m coming. Just let me grab my hoodie.” 

Edd nods and retreats, leaving the door cracked open. Tom yanks the sweater over his head before stepping out after him. “Alright, let’s get out of here.” 

The drive to the store is a loud one, Matt and Edd bickering about something from the movie, plot holes or cgi or poor acting or the numerous other things wrong with those films, so Tom just watches the town roll past his window, trying to ignore the curling anxiety in his gut. What if Tord’s plan doesn't work? 

He shakes his head minutely, trying to dispel the thought. If it doesn't work he'll just do it again. Not exactly the end of the world is it?

“Seriously Tom?” Edd asks, startling him from his reverie. “You can't honestly agree with Matt?”

“Of course he does!” Matt interjects. “Because  _ we  _ can appreciate a fine film when we see it, right Tom?”

Tom snorts. “I'm shaking my head at  _ both _ of you. Are you seriously arguing about a movie with four different movie villains crammed into one? Of course it's going to be ridiculous and awful, but that's the  _ point _ .”

“See!” Matt crows victoriously. 

“But they're still  _ awful _ !” Edd reminds him. 

Tom groans as the argument ensues, praying they'll can it once they get into the store. 

Tom wanders after them on autopilot, occasionally chucking something into the trolley that looks appealing, but mostly letting Edd stock up the necessities. 

Matt zips around the store, somehow managing to find every possible thing they could never need, so Tom also tasks himself with replacing the nonsense he drops in the basket. 

On one such trip to the opposite end of the store, something catches Tom’s eye. 

A wanted poster stuck to a bulletin board amongst announcements for yard sales and job postings. He rolls his eyes, going over and pulling it down. Stupid Tord, getting himself a warrant for his arrest. You'd think an underground army would be better about keeping its leader behind the curtain.

“Whatcha got there?” Edd asks, suddenly peering over his shoulder. 

Tom jumps, whirling around. “Holy hell, Edd! Where did you come from?”

Edd chuckles. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. We've got everything, and if we don't checkout soon Matt may make us buy the whole store.” 

Tom nods. “Right. Let’s go then.”

Edd gestures at the paper in his hands. “Well? What is it?” 

“Uh-” Tom crumples the paper in his hand, hiding the image from Edd. “I left the stove on,” he blurts suddenly. 

“What-”

“See ya at home Edd!” Tom calls, darting out of the store. 

Edd calls after him, but when Matt takes off in the opposite direction he decides that not spending a fortune on lightbulbs they don't need is a more feasible endeavor, and lets Tom escape.    
  


Tom runs back to the house, heaving for breath by the time he arrives. Damn, he should've just put the poster in his pocket instead of staring at it and spacing out like a jackass. Oh well, at least he'd know better next time. 

He walks straight back to his room, wondering if Tord is gone already. When he opens the door, the wall to the lab is raised, revealing Tord standing beside the button, looking more nervous than he usually does when Tom finds him here. 

Tord turns as the door opens, looking surprised. “Tom? What are you doing here?” 

Tom gestures with the crumpled poster as he steps into the lab. “Edd nearly saw one of these. Panicked.” 

Tord shook his head. “Does it really matter at this point? You're probably going to have to explain why I'm leaving anyway.”

Tom jerks a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Seems better than him freaking out and coming to try and stop you.”

Tord raises a brow. “Does he usually?” 

Tom makes a face. “Wouldn't you if you found out your friend was running an evil army hellbent on taking over the world?” 

“Tom, you have to trust me,” Tord says, laying a hand on his arm. 

Tom clenches his fist around the wanted poster, swallowing hard. “I don't have much of a choice, do I?” 

Tord smiles weakly. “No. This should work though,” he encourages. 

“And if it doesn't, what do I tell you next loop when you try to make the same plan?” Tom asks.

“Tell him…  _ you're fucked _ .” 

Tom sighs, curling his lip. “Great, hilarious.” 

Tord smirks, though it lacks the heat it usually holds. “I'm sorry. Whether it works or not, I can tell you what my plan is after I exact it.” 

“Well, be quick about it. We still don't know how to judge the expiration date on these loops,” Tom reminds him nervously. 

Tord nods, and steps back next to the red button. “So long, old friend.”

“I'm not your friend,” Tom says, managing to crack a smile. 

Tord looks surprised for a moment before he chuckles, hitting the button and descending into the robot. 

Tom stays staring at the hatch in the floor, just listening as the backyard opens up behind him, the mech going roaring into the sky. 

“Tom!” Edd yells, coming skidding into the room. “What the hell was that?” he asks. 

“Tord is gone,” Tom says. 

Edd’s shoulders drop, and all he says is a weak, “what?”

Tom rubs at the back of his neck before his eyes catch the notebook on the workbench. Well, whether Tord’s plan works or not…

He turns, and drops a hand on Edd’s shoulder. “I should probably tell you what's going on.” 


	4. Chapter 4

After two weeks of radio silence, Tom gets worried. The only thing hinting at what may be happening to the Red Army is a news report about decreased crime rates in northern Europe for that month. 

Edd does his best to keep Tom calm, but he spends most of his time drinking and pacing excessively, until one makes the other impossible. 

It’s during one of these episodes, Tom walking wobbling circles around the living room and throwing vodka back like water while Edd sits curled up on the couch and doodles in his notebook, that he finally snaps.

Tom stumbles and smashes his shin into the coffee table, grumbling a slurred curse as he nearly topples over, barely catching himself before his head hits the table.

“Fuck’s sake, Tom,” Edd blurts, slapping his sketchbook down. “Just sit down already.”

Tom complies, limping over to the couch before flopping bonelessly onto the cushions.

“You’re going to drink yourself to death before he even has a chance to come back,” Edd says, tone softening. “Take it easy.”

“Good,” Tom mumbles. “Maybe I can get it right next time.”

Edd heaves a sigh, looking exasperated. “Seriously, Tom, what are you going on about ‘next time’?”

Tom just shakes his head. “‘S nothing. You don’t have to worry about it, Edd.”

“But I am worried!” Edd shouts, throwing his hands up. “I can’t get a straight answer out of you, is this about-?” He stops himself, mouth snapping shut.

Tom frowns, struggling to sit up straighter. “‘Bout what?” he presses.

Edd shakes his head. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up now-”

Tom narrows his eyes, his addled brain slowly connecting the dots. “Is this the same thing you’ve been makin’ weird faces at me over?”

Edd winces, looking genuinely chastised. “I shouldn’t have teased you, I knew this was going to be weird for you.”

Tom sighs, deciding to cut his losses. “Edd, I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Edd looks almost impressed. “You really are drunk, huh?”

“Edd.”

“Did you guys… have a falling out or something? Is that why he took off again?” Edd asks.

Tom barks out a laugh. “You mean more of a falling out than our usual lovely interactions? No.”

Edd chuckles too. “I know you guys have your… well, banter isn’t the right word for it, but whatever it is you have. But this is different, your arguments don’t usually end in you getting blackout drunk in the living room.”

Tom slumps over a bit again, face smushing against the back of the couch. “Already told you why he left anyway.”

Edd rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything disparaging, even though he clearly wants to. Instead he glances away thoughtfully, like he’s trying to decide what to say next.

Tom watches Edd as he thinks, his fingers jiggling his pencil while he chews at his bottom lip. The alcohol is really starting to hit him now, and it feels a bit like his head is drifting off his shoulders. He doesn’t even realize he’s spacing out until Edd starts to talk again.

“I know you were upset when he left, even if you didn't like to let on. And I’m guessing you feel the same way this time, but if you aren't going to  _ talk _ about it, you can't let yourself pine like a teenager. I know the saying is ‘you don't know what you have until it's gone’, but that doesn't mean sweep it under the rug when he comes back.” 

Tom takes another swig from the nearly-empty bottle before Edd swipes it from his hand with an angry scoff. He's sincerely hoping he does blackout now. 

“ _ Pine? _ ” He asks incredulously. “Seriously, Edd?”

“Well, what would you call it then?” Edd prods. 

“I call it not having my third panic attack in a week, now gimme-” he swings for the bottle, but misses by a mile as Edd moves it from his reach.

“Okay, no. You're going to go into the kitchen, drink a glass of water and eat some crackers, or toast, or  _ something,  _ and then go the hell to bed, Tom.”

“It's 9 pm!” Tom argues indignantly. 

“And you're already shit-faced!” Edd volleys back. “Seriously, Tom. Do you want me to baby you now, or tomorrow when you can't get out of bed!” 

Tom scoffs. “I didn't  _ ask  _ you to baby me.”

“Then stop acting like one and take care of yourself,” Edd insists. “This is starting to get worrying, Tom. More than usual.” 

Tom starts to argue again, but stops himself when he sees the sincere look on Edd’s face.

“Okay.” Tom relents. “Alright, I'll go. See you tomorrow, Edd.”

At least, he hopes. 

Edd smiles a bit at that. “See ya, Tom.”

* * *

 

Just when Tom’s nerves are frayed beyond repair and he was beginning to consider opening the hatch in the lab to plummet to the floor seventy feet below, he hears an unexpected knock at the front door. 

He flies from his room, shouting, “Edd, you didn't order a pizza right!?” as he dashes down the hall. 

“No!” Edd yells back. “Do you think it's-?”

Tom wrenches the door open, his heart in his throat. There, in his predictable red hoodie, is Tord. Tom is about to celebrate when he fully takes in the state of the other man, and his heart drops to his feet. 

Tord is missing his right arm and eye, and the wounds around the right side of his face are black and filthy, his hair matted to the side of his head. 

“That could've gone better,” Tord informs him with a wheezy chuckle, before toppling over the threshold. 

 

There’s a loud, rushed argument over whether they should take Tord to the hospital when Tom reminds Edd of all the wanted posters. They pick him up to bring him inside, and Edd realizes he has a small pack slung over his good shoulder, packed to the brim with medical supplies and a scribbled note from someone named ‘Pat’, signed with a Red Army symbol beside it.

They place Tord on the couch, Tom reading the hurried instructions aloud as Edd unpacks the backpack. 

Tord begins to stir again as Edd stuffs towels under the right side of his body. He hisses in discomfort as his injuries are jostled, and looks around dazedly. 

“This is going to hurt,” Edd warns him as he twists the cap off a bottle of rubbing alcohol. 

Tord’s brows furrow, but before he can pose a question Tom is quickly pulling his hoodie over his head, and Edd upends the bottle over the right side of his body. 

Tord howls like a wild animal as it douses his ragged skin. The liquid fizzes and bubbles relentlessly, practically covering Tord’s skin in foam. Tom and Edd share a worried glance. The wounds are even more filthy than they look. 

Matt rushes out amidst the cacophony, looking concerned. 

“Matt!” Edd shouts over Tord’s screaming. “Get the salt from the bathroom and some hot water!”

Matt nods quickly, dashing back out to retrieve the items. 

Edd wipes at Tord’s shoulder and face carefully with the towels, the white fabric coming away black and brown and bright red. Tom’s stomach turns at the sight. Even worse is when Edd swipes over the end of Tord’s missing arm and reveals a swath of off-white liquid. 

“Shit,” Tom says lowly.

Edd looks up, wide-eyed. “What does the note say about infection?”

Apparently this Pat person had prepared for the worst, because an addendum reveals the existence of some very intense antibiotics at the bottom of the bag, along with instructions for soaking and wrapping the amputated limb. 

Just then Matt returns, along with a roll of paper towel. 

Edd dissolves some of the epsom salts in the water and soaks the paper towels in it, laying it over Tord’s wounds. 

At Tom and Matt’s quizzical expressions, he explains, “It helps draw out bacteria, and keeps the skin from drying out with the rubbing alcohol. I had to do this a lot when I was younger, getting all manner of stitches and whatnot. It'll do more if we can fully soak the wounds, but I don't want to risk trying to put him in the bath.” 

Tom and Matt nod in understanding, and when the water-soaked towels begin to cool and dry, they help Edd remove them and wrap the worst of the bleeding and leaking wounds, leaving the rest to breathe. 

Tord is unconscious again, so they move into the kitchen somewhat shakily, all three washing their hands in turn, Tom and Edd removing their blood-stained hoodies, leaving them in their t-shirts. 

They all stand around the room in silence, all wondering what the hell just happened.

Tom wishes he could talk to them about this. Ask why Tord looks like he just crawled out of the wreckage of his giant robot without them questioning him. 

He had tried to explain what was happening to him to Edd, but Edd had just looked more scared for Tom’s mental stability than ever before. Maybe now that Tord was back he could help Tom explain. 

Tom sighs, leaning against the counter. He feels exhausted from that ordeal, and realizes suddenly that he hasn't gotten a decent night’s sleep in- well, two weeks. 

Edd hears this, and waves him off. “Go on, get some sleep. I know you've been running yourself ragged over whatever it is Tord was doing. Matt and I can handle it.” 

Matt bobs his head, looking a little shell shocked but otherwise confident. 

Tom frowns nervously. “Are you sure?”

Edd nods once. “Of course. Now seriously, go get some sleep, because I want an actual explanation of what the hell is going on when you wake up.”

Tom chuckles tiredly. “You got it boss.” Tucking his stained hoodie under one arm he shuffles out of the room, glancing at Tord as he walks through the living room into the hall, feeling like the orange walls stretch on for eons before he reaches the familiar door. 

He looks around the room as he tosses the hoodie with the rest of his laundry. Now the empty bed on the opposite end of the room fills him with a bit of hope instead of more anxiety. 

Tom sighs, wondering how the hell he got here. Funny how someone being your only hope of escaping a seemingly endless loop of time makes you want to have them around. 

Tom flops onto his bed, deciding he probably shouldn't get his hopes up over this timeline. What are the odds they'd get it right the first time around? 

* * *

  
  


Tom wakes to a disturbingly familiar sound. Something drops and rattles in the kitchen, and Matt hisses something just loud enough to be audible. Edd laughs, and the two share a muffled conversation. Definitely not an interaction between two people whose friend is lying unconscious in the living room, missing a limb and mangled.

Tom’s insides go cold, and his head spins like he might pass out. Not again. He can’t do this again. And he can’t even die, because he’ll just start over again.

He curls in on himself, chest getting tight and hot as he fights the urge to sob. It can’t be happening. It was all a dream. They’re just going to go fishing and nothing weird is going to happen. Tord is never coming back, there was never a robot under the house. Never, never, never-

“Thomas.”

Tom’s head whips around to see Tord leaning in the doorframe, missing an arm and with bandages wrapped around most of his face, but very much alive, and very much here.

“Oh God-” Tom chokes, tears finally spilling. “I heard Matt, and I thought- again-”

Tord looks unsure as he limps further into the room. “No- Tom, this is still the same timeline, you haven’t looped.”

Tom shivers as the chill that settled over him finally passes, his whole body trembling. He sits up and faces Tord, hugging his knees to his chest. “Sorry- fuck, that was just the last thing I wanted to wake up to-”

Tom is cut off in surprise when an arm wraps around his shoulders. Tord's head bumps gently against his as he hugs him stiffly.

Tom freezes for a moment, unsure of how to respond before his own arms coil around the other, pulling him tight. 

Tord hisses as Tom’s left arm presses against the ragged skin of his side, but neither of them pull away. 

“I did this,” Tord whispers against Tom’s shoulder after standing in silence for several long moments.

Tom leans back, staring at Tord. “What?”

Tord looks up at him, eye wide. “In the future- when I'm just Red Leader, I have to change the past to make things right. I needed to focus more on time travel so I could- I could make the loop.”

Tom gapes at him, dumbfounded. “You…  _ you _ trapped me here?”

Tord pushes away, wild-eyed. “Tom, you have to understand, you were the only one Red Leader could trust- the only one  _ I  _ could trust-” 

“How do you know this?” Tom asks, afraid of the answer.

“I started getting memories back,” Tord admits. “As soon as I departed for this mission, I remembered that I came back, and why. I knew I had to change something I did.”

Tom shakes his head, feeling sick. “So you started this then?”

Tord reels back, looking horrified. “No- that was never… When Edd went back, it changed something. Even after you stopped Matt from messing with history, it still… wasn't the same. The timeline changed immediately, and… horribly.” 

“What you said, about me taking over the world… that was never my intent. Not at first,” Tord says. “I wanted to make things better. I thought I could. When Edd went back it changed  _ me _ for some reason.”

Tom stares at him, wide-eyed in disbelief. But he doesn't say anything, so Tord barrels on. “Because of that change, whenever I hop between loops there's this… struggle between me and whoever I am when the timeline is compromised. I usually lose.”

“But you didn't this time?” Tom guesses. 

Tord shrugs. “I think Edd managed to do less damage to this timeline somehow. There was less to fight.” 

Tom frowns. “But I've never felt anything like that before.” 

Tord moves as if to cross his arms, but his left hand just lays against what’s left of his right arm. “Well, you're always just you,” he states simply with a sad smile. “And I did technically come back from the future, so I think that causes a little more trouble for me.”

Tom raises a brow. “Wait, really?”

Tord nods.

“Then why…?” He gestures at Tord, confused.

Tord shrugs, his hand falling back to his side. “It has to do with the method of time travel,” he explains. “I wasn’t going back in time, but rather I was… moving my place on the timeline back.”

“Will I start getting memories back too then?” Tom asks, finally standing from his place on the bed.

Tord blinks, looking surprised. “I’m not sure. Like I said, I hadn’t gotten it down to a science yet, so I don’t know what to expect. I’m not sure how it… actually manipulated your time.”

Tom hums thoughtfully. “Great.”

After a long silence broken only by Tom’s slowly steadying breath, Tord droops against him slightly and asks, “Why can’t you just trust me?”

Tom lets out a wheezy laugh, pulling away from the embrace. “Sorry, but trust is earned. I don’t give that shit out willy-nilly.”

Tord gives him a pained smile, but Tom just assumes it’s from the wounds raking the right side of his body. “Of course not.”

“TORD!?” Edd’s voice echoes down the hall. 

Tom levels the other man with an unimpressed look. “Edd doesn’t know you’re up?”

Tord looks askance and starts to give a sheepish shrug when Edd bursts in, eyes wide. 

“I thought those red bastards came back for you!” Edd says, voice still raised. “What were you thinking?”

Tord gestures with his remaining hand at Tom, standing beside the bed. “I wanted to check on Tom?” he tries half-heartedly. 

Now it’s Edd’s turn to look unimpressed. “Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re not the one who should be doing the checking.” He walks further into the room, gently pressing between Tord’s shoulder blades to herd him out. “C’mon then.”

Tord grumbles, but lets himself be manhandled out of the room. 

Tom chuckles at the sight, catching the attention of Edd, who turns around and gestures with two fingers between Tom’s eyes and his own. “I’m getting a real explanation when you get out  here,” he says. 

Then with a final push he and Tord make their way back to the living room, leaving Tom alone on his bed. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. How well would this go over?

He stands, grabbing a clean hoodie from his closet and pulling it on. No time like the present to find out, he supposes. 

Tom shuffles out into the living room, pausing in the hall to take in the sight before him. 

Tord is lounging on the couch, his good side pressed against the back as Edd rewraps bandages around the end of his arm. 

Matt is in the armchair, knees pulled up into his hoodie as he watches intently. 

Tord sees Tom first, and pats the cushion his feet are resting on. 

Tom takes the silent invitation and sits beside him, watching as Edd finishes up the task at hand. 

Edd straightens up and tosses the dirty bandages back onto the coffee table before crossing his arms. “Alright. What's going on?”

Tom sighs. “So, you remember how that version of you came from the future to kill you?”

Edd nods. 

“It messed up your timeline,” Tord adds in. “Or rather, Tom’s timeline. This one is... different for both of us.”

Edd’s eyebrows shoot up. “And what does that mean?” he asks disbelievingly. 

“Basically when you went back in time it changed the future for the worse. And I had to do what I could to fix it,” Tord explains. “Essentially I created a bubble of time wherein something specific had to change. But instead of operating like a perfect loop as I intended, this ‘bubble’ sort of… floated between different timelines.” 

“So… you two are from different timelines?” Edd tries.

“Tom is. I had to place him in that bubble to ensure the change was triggered,” Tord continues. 

“Thanks again for that, by the way.” Tom grumbles. 

“What would you rather I had done?” Tord snaps. “You would've absolutely murdered me if I had subjected Edd to that.”

Tom sighs loudly, but doesn't argue. “You could've always done it yourself.” 

Tord makes a face. “I can't. I was the variable here, I'm… too unpredictable to control what happens,” he admits haltingly. 

“Unpredictable?” Edd asks. “What do you mean?”

Tord winces, seeming to realize he’s shown his hand. “Well. Tom told you about the robot I took when I left, right?”

Edd nods silently as Matt pipes up. “Yeah! What was that about anyway?”

Tord looks away, frowning. “Well. I was starting an army. We were going to change the world, and I was going to be at the head of it all. But when Edd went back something changed. It altered the timeline irreparably, and myself along with it.”

Edd furrows his brow. “So this is my fault?” he asks.

“What? No!” Tom immediately interjects.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Tord explains. “Yes, you going back is what caused the change, but it was my actions that sent you back.”

Edd looks even more confused. “But if you fix it, then wouldn’t it change the future so I don’t go back, cancelling out the change in the first place?”

Tord opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it again almost immediately. “I… haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

Everyone else makes an exasperated noise, prompting Tord to sit upright, looking affronted. “Hey, I’d like to see you assholes invent a time machine!”

“I  _ did _ , if you’ll recall,” Matt reminds him with a pompous sniff.

Tord scowls. “No, you stole  _ mine _ !”

“After you fucked up so bad Edd tried to kill his past self,” Tom adds with a smirk.

“Yeah, what’s up with that anyway?” Edd asks. “What’ve you got against cola?”

“I don’t know! I haven’t done it yet!” Tord snaps. 

Tom watches as the other three continue to bicker for a moment before standing from the couch and moving into the kitchen. 

He's just begun to pour himself a bowl of cereal when he hears another pair of footsteps approach him. 

Tom glances back to see Tord standing by the table, his left hand wrapped around what remains of his right shoulder like one might grip their elbows when crossing their arms. 

“Y’know,” Tom starts as he replaces the box and pulls open the fridge to grab the milk. “I never did ask you what made you start working on time travel earlier in this timeline than in mine.” 

Tord chuckles. “Well, you know when Edd went further back in time to create an army of alternate versions of himself?”

Tom laughs too, shaking his head. Only Edd would think an army of him was the sensible route. 

“Well his first jump didn't go quite far enough, and he appeared near where we left Matt during that first zombie apocalypse. And I saw him, realized what had happened, and began concocting plans for time travel.”

“So memory erasure was off the board, and time travel was on?” Tom asks, sitting down at the table to eat. 

Tord nods, leaning against the table across from him. “It certainly took precedent, yes.”

Tom takes a few bites of cereal, stewing on this new information. 

“Can I ask you another question?” Tom asks, shoveling in another spoonful. 

Tord shrugs. “Sure.”

“Is this your timeline? Is that why it was so easy for you to grab the reigns back this time?”

Tord looks shocked before smiling sheepishly. “I… didn't expect you to pick up on that.” 

Tom shrugs a shoulder, just chewing silently. 

“Yes, this is my timeline, with all of my memories. And the one that should lead to a nicer future for all of us, in theory,” he adds.

“And here, did you and your Tom… get along?”

Tord looks slightly puzzled by the question. “Of course. We were friends,” he says, eye sliding away from Tom’s.

“Tord,” he insists, leaning forward over the table.

Tord frowns, crossing his good arm tighter over his chest. “Look, we’re both going to have different memories of what happened before all of this. No use dwelling on it.”

“But you still remember what happened before Edd’s future self changed you,” Tom pushes. “ _ This _ is still you. Not the bastard who tried to blow me up.”

Tord sneers a bit. “I’m starting to see why he did. Were you always this irritating?”

Tom jabs his spoon at Tord accusingly. “So we did get along better than normal in your timeline!”

Tord makes a face. “If this is ‘normal’ for you, no wonder you were such a jackass that first day.”

Tom lets out a single laugh, going back to eating his breakfast. “Please. This is pleasant by my standards.”

Tord shakes his head before turning to sit fully on the table, his socked toes barely scraping the floor as he gazes at the wall. “Yes, you and I got along better in my timeline. To say the least.”

Tom wrinkles his nose. “The  _ least _ ?”

Tord goes slightly red, twisting to face Tom as he waves a hand. “No, that’s not- Well, you weren’t interested,” he says bluntly, still not quite meeting Tom’s eyes. 

“Huh. Fair enough.” Tom is still curious about these kind of loops, where Tord apparently has feelings for him that go beyond ‘torment mercilessly’, but he supposes now isn’t the time to broach the subject.

Tord chuckles. “Yes, that was the conclusion I came to after a few embarrassed days. Fair.” There’s a quiet pause as he seems to drift, reminiscing, and Tom finishes the last few bites of his cereal. “We were good friends. Almost as close as you and Edd, I would say.”

Tom can’t help but laugh at that. “Really.”

Tord smiles too, the burns and lacerations on the right side of his face turning it crooked. “Yes, believe it or not.”

Tom stands, letting this new information sink in as he moves to rinse out his bowl. “So, what was different here then?” he asks, turning to face Tord, who now has his feet pulled up on one of the chairs. “What changed between us?”

Tord shrugs. “It's hard to say. It's just a variable between timelines. Just like there may be ones where we’re all clowns, or cowboys, or Edd takes over the world, or red is  _ your _ favorite color instead.”

Tom snorts, leaning back against the counter. “What, like multiverse theory? Do you really believe that?”

Tord fixes him with a serious look. “We’re living it, Thomas. It's not about believing it.” 

“Then why didn't I get sent to any of those versions?” he asks. “Why just the ones with these minor differences?”

“Because you had to be able to make the change necessary to close the loop. Which meant saving the world, as we know now.” Tord sighs. “And that meant only going back in timelines that Edd’s future self changed.” 

“Hey,” Edd says, poking his head in from the living room. “We never got to finish Insane Zombies 5 before you left.” 

Tord lights up, immediately jumping to his feet. “Oh, yes! I could use a distraction, those pain meds only do so much.”

“Tom?” Edd asks. 

Tom opens his mouth to refuse, but when Tord turns and raises a brow at him, Tom sighs and relents. “Fine. I'll humor you this one time.” 

Tord grins in a way that looks more like a feral dog baring its teeth. “Excellent! I'll make the popcorn.”

Matt crows excitedly from the adjacent room, and it's all Tom can do to chuckle in exasperation and make his way to the living room for a hundred and ten minutes of torture. 

 

The movie is just as bad as he remembers, but Tom lets himself space out and just enjoy his friend’s ceaseless laughter and heckling. 

The rest of the day passes in a way that is achingly familiar, all of them milling about as usual, inevitably stepping on one another’s toes. 

Tom tries to let himself bask in it, while simultaneously trying not to get his hopes up about this timeline. It could still fail. They could still die. Tom could still wake up tomorrow in an entirely different timeline.

The booze he layers on as the hours pass doesn’t help either. The world feels farther and farther away and the looming anxiety presses closer and closer. 

When Matt dismisses himself to get his beauty sleep, Tom slips away too. Neither Edd or Tord protest, either noticing his tension or excusing it as exhaustion from the ordeal he’s been through.

Is potentially still going through. 

He kicks his jeans and tosses his hoodie into a sloppy pile, practically dragging himself into bed and burrowing under the covers. Either way, he won’t know until he closes his eyes. It’s just a matter of time.


	5. Chapter 5

Tom hikes up the hill, determined to get to the top but not sure what he hopes to find there. As he ascends smoke clouds his vision, the heat rolling over him in waves before he even reaches the top. 

Giant pieces of rubble and shrapnel litter the once-grassy area, now reduced to dirt ruts and mud and scorched earth. Tom heads unwaveringly toward one specific pile of rubble, with the pole of a light blue harpoon jutting out from it.

As he approaches, it shifts, pieces slowly falling away as one large, flat sheet of metal is slowly raised. Tom slows his pace, eyes trained on the movement. 

The piece topples over, leaving the arm that pushed it groping at open air for a moment before grabbing another chunk and slowly lifting a body out from the rubble. 

Tord is much worse for wear; most of his hair is scorched away, the right side of his face is a bloody mess, bright white spots of teeth and skull peering through the tattered flesh. 

His right arm is crushed and mangled worse than Tom has ever seen it, and it dangles hopelessly at his side. Tord’s breath comes in harsh wheezes as he slowly slinks from the ruins of his creation, and Tom realizes the smoke is burning his lungs too, but he can’t move, can’t flee from the destruction he wrought.

Tord glares up at him, his one remaining eye shining with a kind of desperation Tom would associate with a dying animal, trying to cling on to life even as a predator shreds it mercilessly. 

Tord opens his mouth to speak, but as soon as he croaks out a single sound, he hacks up blood, coughing violently as the ground beneath him is spattered red.

Tom tries to move forward to help, to do  _ anything _ , but it’s like his feet are cemented to the ground. He can’t even cry out, his jaw feels wired shut. Tord just keeps coughing, his wheezing breaths becoming shallower and more infrequent. He doubles over, his left hand clawing at the grass as he tries again to wrench himself from the mangled, burning wreckage.

The blood streaks his chin as it drips steadily from between his red-stained teeth. And all Tom can do is stand and watch in abject horror as one of his friends suffers. 

With one last heave, Tord’s torso drops to the burned ground, legs still pinned under the mound of twisted metal. And with a wet, rattling breath, he goes completely still. 

Tom bolts upright, breathing hard. It was another nightmare. He lets out a shaky sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He wonders, if this loop does work, and he does spend the rest of his life somewhat normally, if he’ll ever shake the memories from those dozens upon hundreds of repeats.

He grabs his phone off the bedside table, unlocking it and squinting at the bright screen. Five am. He groans, and throws his legs off the side of the bed. He might as well get a glass of water before he decides how he feels about being awake at such an unholy hour. 

He shuffles out into the kitchen, passing by the living room quietly so as not to wake up Tord. 

He retrieves a cup and fills it at the tap before turning to lean against the counter as he sips at the cool water. Looking out into the living room, he’s met with an odd sight.

Tord is laid out on the couch, head resting against an arm and his feet barely brushing the opposite end. But in the armchair is Edd, curled up in a way that makes Tom wince in sympathy. 

If he had known Tord needed some kind of watch he would’ve volunteered. He feels some level of responsibility for the whole situation, and it’s not like he gets much sleep these days anyway. 

As he gazes at the scene before him, Edd’s phone, sitting on the coffee table, chimes out a persistent alarm. But before he can stir, Tord’s arm lifts off the couch and deftly slaps at the screen, silencing it immediately.

Tord sits up, rubbing at his good eye as he yawns. He gives Edd a quick glance, checking to make sure the other man was still asleep, before immediately swiveling to lock eyes with Tom, as if he sensed him there.

Tom jumps a bit, sloshing some water over his hand. Tord either can’t see in the low light, or pretends not to notice, because he stands and hobbles into the kitchen without so much as a condescending smile. 

Tom jerks his chin back towards the living room. “What’s the alarm for?”

Tord chuckles. “To change the bandages on my arm.” He raises what’s left of his right arm for emphasis. “But I can do it myself. I think Edd fancies himself a Nightingale after the time he spent in hospital.”

Tom scoffs. “If you do it yourself you’ll make a mess of it.” He gestures at the table, pulling a chair out for himself. “Sit down, I’ll help.”

Tord frowns in disbelief. “Really?”

Tom shrugs. “I’m already up. Besides, I’ve changed a bandage or two in my life, I know what to do.”

Tord fixes him with a calculating stare for a few moments before shrugging back. “Alright then.” He moves quietly back into the living room, scooping up the bag he’d arrived with and depositing it on the table. He sits on Tom’s left side, leaning back in the chair.

Tom removes the bandages around his arm first, fighting the urge to suck in a breath at the scabbed, raw skin that it reveals. “What the hell happened, anyway?” he asks.

Tord hums, pursing his lips. “What always happens, no? The robot blew, and took me out with it.”

Tom nods to the note as he drops the soiled bandages next to the bag. “Your men still came for you?”

Tord sighs and closes his left eye as Tom unwinds the bandages wrapped around his head. “Yes, but not as promptly as one would like. They were… otherwise occupied.”

If it weren’t for the time of day Tom would lay in to Tord for being so cryptic, but between his own lack of sleep and Edd still snoozing in the adjacent room, he decides to let it go. 

He begins to pull away the gauze from the end of Tord’s arm, but it sticks tight and Tord lets out a hiss through gritted teeth. 

“Sorry,” Tom says, pulling his hand away. After a moment of consideration he stands, retrieving a bowl and filling it with hot water. He places it on the table and gestures to Tord’s arm. “Soak that, the gauze will come off easier.”

Tord makes a face but leans against the table to plunge his arm into the water. He curls his lip, letting out a quiet “fuck” as the water stings his wounds.

Tom peers in to make sure none of them are reopening before returning his attention to Tord’s eye. Or lack thereof, rather. Tom pulls the gauze off without any assistance, the scar tissue deadening the nerves in Tord’s face enough that he hardly flinches. 

Tom can’t hold back a chuckle when Tord winces as he cleans his face with rubbing alcohol. “Too much for you, commie?” he pokes. 

Tord glares at him with his good eye. “When did you turn into such a sadist?” 

Tom gives him a tight smile. “When _you_ trapped me in a loop where you kept trying to kill me over and over,” he replies, giving Tord a hard pat on the wounded side of his face.

Tord gives a choked noise, wrenching his face away and sloshing water over the table. “Jævel-” he grumbles, aiming a half-hearted kick at Tom’s shins.

“Yeah, back at you,” Tom mutters, pushing the bowl away and patting Tord’s arm dry. He cleans it off with alcohol as well, ignoring Tord’s hissed protests and squirming as he pays extra attention to the amputation wound. 

He re-covers Tord’s eye with gauze and wraps clean bandages around the raw side of his face and does the same to his arm, setting the antibiotics and a glass of water in front of him before cleaning up the bloody gauze and cotton balls. “Still think you could’ve done all that by yourself?”

Tord scowls at him as he shakes a single pill out onto the table. “Fuck off, Thomas.” He throws it back, taking a generous sip of water with it. Tom scoops everything back into the bag and sets it on a chair before turning to wash his hands. 

The kitchen is quiet except for the sound of the running water and birds beginning to sing outside the window for a long moment, before Tord breaks it with a hesitant, “Thank you.”

Tom hums, shutting off the water. “Sure,” he says as he reaches for the hand towel. He turns as he dries his hands, looking at Tord curiously. 

The other man looks uncomfortable, fiddling with the glass in front of him for a moment before standing. “I’m going to use the restroom,” he informs Tom. 

Tom smirks, dropping the towel onto the counter. “Need help with that too?”

Tord gives him a deadpan stare. “I’m an amputee, not a paraplegic. I’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.”

Tord leaves the room without another word, leaving Tom to consider the last few minutes. There was a time in his life when he would’ve been giving Tord a reason to wear bandages, not changing them for him. 

Movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and Tom looks into the living room to see Edd sitting up, looking far too awake for someone who just got up. 

“The alarm actually woke you, didn’t it?” Tom asks.

Edd smiles. “Of course. You know I’m not a deep sleeper, especially not when I sleep like this.” He stands, stretching and popping his back and shoulders. 

“Probably because you drink caffeinated soda like most people drink water,” Tom teases. 

Edd scoffs as he shuffles into the kitchen. “Yeah, and like you drink vodka.” 

“Fair enough,” Tom relents. 

A companionable silence stretches out between them as Edd retrieves and fills his own glass of water, taking a sip before Tom interjects. 

“Hey, Edd?”

Edd turns to him, raising a brow.

“Is this how you remember me and Tord? Arguing but… not really meaning it?”

Edd gives him a half-hearted smile, looking down into his glass thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose. Though maybe less profanity.” 

Tom chuckles. “Right. I'll keep that in mind.”

Edd turns a searching gaze on him. “You two really didn't get along in your timeline did you?”

Tom shakes his head. “Not at all.”

Edd stares back out towards the living room again. “It's funny how that can be so different, when we're all the same people.”

Tom hums thoughtfully. “Maybe I was jealous,” Tom says before he can stop himself. 

Edd looks at him again, raising a brow and looking amused. “What?”

“Never mind,” Tom says immediately, waving a hand. “It's silly, I'm still half asleep-”

“Oh, come on.” Edd nudges Tom’s leg with a foot. “Spill. I hardly ever get these confessions from you when you're sober.”

Tom sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “There's good reason for that.” 

A pause stretches out between them, but it’s apparent that Edd is prepared to be very patient, so Tom continues. “It's just- you two have always been so close, and I wanted… like, when Tord came back from the dead he came to you for help.”

Edd frowns. “No he didn't. I mean, not for me.”

“Really?”

He nods. “He went to you. Matt came to me.”

“Then did I vomit on Tord’s shoes instead?”

Edd laughs at that. “Yes. And he never let it go.” 

“Wait, why didn't Matt come to me? We practically grew up together.” 

Edd looks confused. “You what?”

Tom nods. “After my dad died, I stayed with Matt and his mom a lot.”

Edd gives him a sad look. “Tom- your dad just passed last year.”

Tom opens his mouth and closes it again, not sure how to process this information. “Really?” he manages.

Edd turns away again, back leaning against the counter. “This might be the weirdest thing that has ever happened.”

“You can say that again,” Tom mumbles.

In the silence that follows, it occurs to Tom that he might as well be talking to a stranger for all that he shares with this version of Edd. The thought might choke him up if his nerves weren’t deadened from everything else that’s happened over the past…

God, has he really spent a year doing this? Maybe he’s just finally lost his mind.

Maybe he just misses his friends.

He’s staring at the tile floor, contemplating the world he’s left with when he sees Edd’s socked feet move out of the corner of his vision.

He lifts his head to see Edd standing in front of him, pinning him in place with an earnest look.

“Even if you’re not my Tom you’re still my friend, and I still know that look.”

Tom starts a little, and rubs a hand over his face like he can dislodge the deep discomfort he’s feeling with a quick swipe.

Edd holds his arms out just slightly, enough to be dismissed as a twitch if Tom blew him off. But Tom sighs and moves away from the counter, wrapping his arms around Edd’s shoulders and pulling him in tight.

Edd seems slightly surprised as he wraps his arms under Tom’s, hands meeting between his shoulder blades. “I think you might be taller than my Tom,” Edd informs him with a chuckle.

Tom laughs with him, feeling some of the suffocating weight drop from his chest. They stand like that for a few moments, Tom’s fingers digging into the back of Edd’s hoodie just infinitesimally tighter.

“Alright, since we know Tom is capable of changing a bandage and I'm not an infant, can I please go back to sleeping in my room?”

“Tord!” Edd yelps, wheeling around. 

Apparently the injury hadn't affected Tord’s eerily quiet footsteps, because he's leaning in the doorway, occupying a space Tom would've sworn was empty less than a second ago. 

“Seriously, sleeping on that sofa is awful, and I'm sure the armchair can't be any better Edd. If I promise not to die in my sleep will you stop being such a mother hen?”

Edd lets out a scoff. “Mother hen my arse. You’re lucky I didn’t let you bleed out on my doorstep!”

Tom shuffles back to lean against the counter as the two bicker, crossing his arms and enjoying the show. 

Maybe it isn’t so different here after all.

In the end Edd relents and lets Tord go back to his own bed, but not before making a loud comment to Tom about making sure he doesn’t choke on his own tongue. Tord fumes and the other two laugh as they make their way back to their respective rooms until a more reasonable hour.

That morning passes uneventfully, with Tord’s bandages getting changed every 6 hours the only remarkable milestones.

They watch bad TV shows and take turns heckling them and getting secretly absorbed by the half-baked plots and poorly-written characters.

And through it all Tord texts almost constantly with his good hand, always glowering at the phone like he’s deep in thought. A few times it rings, but Tord immediately declines the calls and furiously taps out a string of texts each time. 

Tom watches this with some interest, but doesn’t pry. Probably just doing some sort of damage control, which isn’t his concern. He still needed to figure out just what the hell Tord did, but now isn’t the time to interrogate him. 

But every time Tom tries to corner him, the commie manages to slither away. 

Edd is in his room drawing and Matt is re-organizing his novelty toy collection, and Tom sees Tord grabbing a Coke from the fridge, but as soon as Tom takes a single step into the room, the can is bouncing off the tile and Tord is gone.

Or Edd goes to make more popcorn while Matt is in the bathroom, and when Tom turns on the couch to face Tord the other man is on his feet before Tom can even blink, striding out of view. 

By the time Tom manages to hunt him down again, he finds Tord curled up under his blankets, fast asleep. 

Tom sighs, checking his watch. 9 pm. He supposes losing a limb will do that to a person. 

He hasn't lost a body part though, so instead Tom settles in on his bed with Susan and a full flask to strum the night away. 

He gets pleasantly buzzed, and wishes he could be gazing at the stars instead of his ceiling, but Tord is usually the one that fetches him on those nights and the norski is in no condition to be retrieving anyone tonight. 

So instead Tom passes out where he lies, making sure to place Susan lovingly against the foot of his bed first. 

* * *

 

Tom is roused in the middle of the night by hissed shouting from the other side of the room.

Tord has his phone pressed to his ear, spitting Norwegian into the receiver. Tom tries to figure out what he’s saying, but can’t pick out any familiar words.

Then, almost like he’s aware he has an audience, Tord switches to English. “No- Paul, I don’t give a shit, you have to deliver it as soon as-”

Tord is cut off, and Tom watches as his hand clenches around the phone. “I had to! I explained this already, the timeline was split, this was the only way-”

Tord growls and pulls the phone away from his ear as tinny shouting rings through the speaker. “Don’t start with me, Paul. You would’ve done the same for Patryck.”

Right. The soldiers. Why was Tord still in contact with them? 

“You’re right, it’s not the same thing!” Tord snaps. “First of all, it’s three to one, so-”

There’s a brief silence as Tord gets cut off again, and as Paul stops talking, Tord’s posture goes stiff. “Need I remind you I am still your leader, soldier? Don’t speak to me like I’m a child.”

He continues in Norwegian again, his voice going quieter. Tom stares at his back nervously. Tord still considered himself Red Leader? He can feel a headache starting to burn behind his eyes. 

Tord switches back to English just in time to promise, “We’ll figure this out, okay? …. Vi ses.”

Tord hangs up, sighing lowly. 

Why does Tom feel like he’s listened to Tord argue with Paul before? If he closes his eyes he can almost see it, Tord scowling and gesturing furiously with his mismatched hands, Paul frowning around his cigarette with his arms crossed while Pat hovers at the edges.

Tom gasps aloud as his headache comes to a peak and he realizes he has seen that exact argument before. 

But before he can reflect on this thought Tord whips around, eye wide. He relaxes almost instantly, looking sheepish. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Tom shrugs, raising a hand to press over his eyes. He can hear, rather than see, as Tord steps closer.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“My head,” Tom mutters. “What was that about?”

“Business. You can't expect me to walk around with one arm, can you?” 

“I suppose it’s not a good look for the leader of the world,” Tom replies, dropping his hand so he can watch Tord’s reaction.

“Thomas-” Tord starts, expression serious. 

“Did you lie to me?” Tom asks.

“No!” Tord groans, rubbing at his face with his single remaining hand, what was left of his right arm moving slightly as if to try and mirror the action. “Tom, you don’t understand how guilty I feel about this, I can’t possibly explain-”

“You don’t have to.”

Tord drops his hand, looking surprised. “What do you mean?”

Tom pushes himself up to sit against the headboard, patting the duvet beside him as he says, “I think… I’m starting to get my memories back too.”

Tord’s mouth falls open slightly and he flops onto the bed, looking dumbfounded. Tom would laugh at the look on his face if it weren’t for the migraine building up in his skull.

“What kind of memories?” Tord asks, voice falling to a low, almost reverent register.

Tom can see, plain as day, a vision of Tord sitting behind a worn cherry desk, with lines and scars on his face that were never there before, with grey streaking his hair and a booming laugh passing his lips at an assortment of people getting drunk in what must be his office, the future versions of Edd and Matt and those two soldiers in the mix. 

Tom opens his mouth to elaborate, but the memory brings something else back to the front of his mind. Tord is wearing a regal-looking blue and red military uniform in his memory. 

“What did you do?” he asks instead.

Tord looks confused, almost to the point of distress. “What do you mean?”

“Not... in the future,” Tom explains, pressing a hand to his forehead again. This is seriously too much. “I mean, when you took the robot, what fixed this?”

Tord relaxes, but only slightly, still looking on-edge as he places his hand over his scarred shoulder. “I told you, I dismantled Red Army.”

The silence stretches out between them as Tom waits for him to elaborate. “I killed them,” he whispers. “I destroyed the base like a child would step on an anthill. I let the ones who would run, run. They were no threat, clearly.” He looks away, arm tightening around himself. “The ones who would be loyal enough to follow me in the future turned and fought alongside me. The rest had to be. Eliminated.”

“Jesus,” Tom breathes, shaking his head and looking away from Tord.

Tord whips back around, gaze fiery as his hand drops to clench in the sheets. “They were bad people, Thomas,” he hisses. “I see that now. They wanted to dominate the world, isn’t it good people like that are gone? Isn’t it good to be unstuck?” 

Tom frowns, wrinkling his nose. “Not if you had to kill hundreds of people to do it.”

Tord barks out a harsh laugh. “Please! How many times did you kill me trying to save yourself?”

Tom opens his mouth and closes it again, at a loss for words.

Tord leans in, lip curling. “We aren’t so different. Don’t act all high and mighty. I did this to fix my first mistake, and relieve you from my second. You think I- the version of me you’re getting these memories of- enjoyed what I had to do? Truly?”

Tom just stares at him, jaw clenching. 

Tord leans away again with a snort. “That’s what I thought. I’m not a monster. Not in this timeline, not after you helped me fix it.” 

Tom snorts derisively. “I'd say trapping your so-called friend in a time loop to fix your damage is pretty monstrous.”

Tord shoots him a feral smile. “You saved the world, Tom, can't you appreciate that?”

Tom frowns again. “Yeah, in one timeline. What about the rest?”

Tord shrugs. “This is the one we're in. Do the rest have to matter?”

Tom wrinkles his nose. “Not if you're a sociopath.”

Tord smirks at that. “It's called having a level of clinical detachment, Thomas. It’s a skill you have to cultivate when you lead an army. People die. Not everything you try works.” 

“That doesn't mean you have to just accept it.” Tom argues.

Tord’s expression goes cold. “If you think I  _ just accept  _ every death I've caused you're mistaken.” He stands, turning back towards his own bed. “Go back to sleep, Thomas.” 

“I’m not going to let this go,” Tom says after him. 

“I don’t expect you to,” Tord replies, voice weary. “Goodnight.”

“... Goodnight, Tord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! just wanted to take a minute to say thank you all again for the lovely comments and enthusiasm, it really means a lot.
> 
> also, next week will be a bit of a special update! because it will be the final chapter, and (drumroll) an epilogue! i didn't include it in the chapter count so y'all wouldn't expect more updates than i had planned, but hopefully you'll enjoy it as a bonus!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! the final update!! strap yourselves in, this is a bit of a long one

The next morning passes in a stony silence that Tom is more than used to at this point, but clearly puts the other two on edge. Both Edd and Matt try to wrangle the other two into pleasant small talk with no success. 

After breakfast they all part ways, and a thought occurs to Tom. He makes a beeline for Matt’s room, knocking softly on the door

“Come in!” Matt calls.

Tom steps through into the familiar room. It's possibly the most organized he's ever seen it, with most of their junk and knick knacks now stored upstairs like the world’s cheapest museum. 

The only thing disrupting this fairly new equilibrium is the positively massive pile of mirrors and picture frames to one side of Matt, along with a rag and a bottle of glass cleaner. 

“So… you remember everything from before Tord left?” Tom clarifies. 

Matt bobs his head, not looking up from the mirror he was polishing.

“Well, looks like you have that up on me for once,” Tom says with a smirk.

Matt shoots him a glare, but doesn’t interrupt.

Tom slides down the wall to sit across from him, finally gaining the man’s full attention. “What… happened between me and him? By your recollection, I mean.”

Matt frowns and puts the mirror aside. “Well, it’s not all me. Tord talked to me about it a lot.”

“Really?”

Matt shrugs. “You had Edd, he had me. Honestly we should’ve just made you two talk it out, but neither of us wanted to get in the middle of it.”

“‘It’?” Tom asks.

“Your  _ feelings _ ,” Matt says, clasping his hands beside his cheek and fluttering his eyelids.

Tom aims a kick at Matt, but misses by a mile, making the other man laugh and pull his own legs in closer, now sitting criss-cross.

“Alright, can you just tell me what was up? Because everyone else dances around it and it’s getting on my nerves,” Tom says, barely restraining the urge to snap at Matt. Still, the request comes out more peevish than he would’ve liked.

Matt hums, this time reaching for a framed photo of himself to dust off. “Well, I suppose since you’re… a different Tom? My promise to Tord not to tell you doesn’t stand.” He looks proud of this conclusion, and sets the picture aside, grabbing the mirror he bought from the magic store, which was sloppily glued together and had an almost funhouse effect now.

“I’m guessing you know by now Tord had… an  _ interest _ in you, let’s say. He played the part of the kid on the playground pulling a girl’s pigtails, and everyone saw it but you.”

“Let me guess, I pulled back?” Tom says, planting his elbows on his legs and resting his head in a hand. 

Mat nods, twisting the mirror this way and that and inspecting his warped reflection. “The two of you got your rapport going, where you would get on each other’s nerves like you had a daily quota.” Matt frowns, and tosses the mirror onto his bed, reaching for an intact one. “Eventually the actual annoyance left, and the two of you just had this sort of… banter. That was when Tord told you how he felt.”

“Y’know, I’m pretty sure this is the longest we’ve ever spoken,” Tom jokes, eyes focused on Matt’s hands cleaning the mirror. 

Matt shoots him a slightly quizzical smile, but continues on. “Anyway, you told him you didn’t feel the same and things were weird for a few days. But then the two of you got right back to it, pushing each other’s buttons and getting one another in trouble.”

“So, why wouldn’t Edd want to bring it up then?” Tom asks.

Matt sets the mirror down with a small sigh. “Well, apparently you did start returning his feelings after a while. Edd told me that much.”

Tom frowns. He supposes if he’d want a relationship with anyone, it would be someone who could put up with his relentless bullying like his friends do, but still, Tord?

“But I never told Tord,” Tom guesses.

Matt nods. “And don’t ask me why, because if you ever told Edd he never passed it on to me.” He sets the cloth down as well, clasping his hands over his shins. “Clear anything up for you?”

Tom sighs, letting his head fall back with a  _ thump _ against the wall. “Yes and no.”

Matt shrugs and picks at a stray thread at the cuffs of his jeans. “I’d say talk to Tord about it.”

“I  _ tried _ that,” Tom laments. “He’s just as squirrely about it as ever, apparently.”

Matt gives another heave of his shoulders. “Well, think of it as a new start then. Don’t worry about how you felt before. How do you feel now?”

Tom stares up at the ceiling for a few moments before lifting his head, meeting Matt’s gaze. “That’s… surprisingly wise. That memory gun really did a number on you in my timeline, huh?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Matt says simply, tilting his head to one side. 

Tom chuckles, pushing himself up to stand. Some things never change. “Thanks for the talk, Matt.”

Matt gives a noncommittal hum, attention drawn by a chiming notification from his phone. Tom slips out the door and into the hall, nearly colliding with Tord in the process.

Tom lets out a yelp, startling both of them. “Jesus, Tord!”

Tord frowns, lowering his arm from where he raised it to avoid colliding face-first into Tom’s shoulder. “Did you lose something in Matt’s garbage heap of a room? Because I’m sorry to tell you it’s probably gone.”

“We were just talking. Were you… looking for me?”

Tord sighs, and jerks his head toward their shared room. Tom groans. Secret conversations weren’t good conversations. But still, he follows the wounded man through the door and under the concealed wall into the lab. 

Tord stops just short of his desk, staring pensively at the mounds of papers for a moment before turning back to Tom, shifting anxiously on his feet. 

Tom doesn’t intrude, just watches the other man fidget and squirm as he decides what to say. 

“I… I’m sorry, for last night.”

Tom raises a brow and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I shouldn’t have snapped like I did. But you have to understand why I was frustrated, Tom?”

“And why is that?” Tom asks.

Tord’s face pulls down into a scowl, but the bitterness doesn’t creep into his tone. “I did this for- …  _ because,  _ of you. Even though this was my timeline, I was still… wrong. I still would’ve followed the path you’re so familiar with. But you changed it.”

Tom clenches his jaw but tries to keep his expression neutral. “And you understand why it wouldn’t make me happy to hear you slaughtered people over something I did?”

Tord winces, raising his hand to cup the end of his right arm. “Yes. But I want to make it clear that… it was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do.  _ I _ don’t remember what I did in the loops. Not anymore. This is just… me. Not the version of me that Edd changed. This is what will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Tom drops his arms, trying to force the tension from his body. “Well, at least I won’t be the only one having nightmares then.”

Tord eyes him critically, taking a moment to decide that that was, in fact, a joke meant to lighten the mood. He lowers his arm as well, instead bracing his hand against the edge of the desk as he rocks back on his heels. 

“Was that all?” Tom asks.

Tord shakes his head. “If you’re truly not upset, I have a favor to ask you.”

“I was never  _ upset _ ,” Tom gripes.

After a long, disbelieving silence passes between them, Tom sighs and relents. “What’s the favor?”

“One of my men will be supplying my prosthesis tonight, late. I just want you to be awake when the exchange happens.”

Tom frowns. “Why?”

“If Edd or Matt wake up, it will be a little less incriminating to see us both with a stranger than just me, after what they’ve learned.” Tord explains.

“But  _ I’m _ a stranger too,” Tom reminds him. “How do they know I’m not a Tom from some universe where I’m a Red Army sympathizer here to help you take over the world?”

Tord fixes him with a bewildered look. “Have you ever considered writing one of those terrible B movies you love so much?”

“Alright, forget it. I’ll help you.” Tom groans. 

“No, seriously, I think you could have a knack for it.”

“Just drop it, Tord!”

* * *

 

Tom leaned against the wall beside the door as Tord pulled it open, stifling a yawn. He didn’t understand why this exchange had to happen at night. Their housemates were so oblivious Tom thinks the pilots could parachute in and they wouldn’t notice.

On the other side stands the stockier of the two soldiers, holding a small duffel bag under one arm, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He starts to speak, but his eyes catch Tom over Tord’s shoulder and he stops, shooting his leader a wary glance. 

Tord waves a hand dismissively, muttering something that sounds like an affirmative in Norwegian. “It’s alright Paul, he’s been helping me.”

Paul nods, still looking slightly unsure. “Well then, hello Tom.”

Tom raises a brow and casts a glance at Tord, who meets his eyes with a shrug. Paul doesn’t seem to notice the exchange, probably due to his own right eye being clouded over, a ragged scar bisecting it. 

“Hallo,” Tom tries, with a half-hearted wave.

Paul laughs at that, eyes crinkling at the corners. Even Tord cracks a smile, giving Tom a questioning look. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to intrude, Leader,” Paul says.

Tord turns back to him, looking surprised. “Why is that?”

Paul frowns, shifting the bag uncomfortably. “Well, to get the level of articulation and response you wanted, Patryck had to revamp the attachment device. It’s going to be… a bit of a procedure, sir.”

Tord curses under his breath, hand clenching around the door. “Fine, come in then. We need to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Of course.” Paul steps in, allowing Tord to shut the door behind him before quickly striding down the hall to their shared room. 

Tom follows behind them, wondering exactly what this ‘procedure’ is going to entail. 

Paul nods at the bedroom door as they enter. “I’m guessing this isn’t very soundproof?”

“Helvete!” Tord exclaims. “What are you going to do to me?”

Paul chuckles nervously. “I can’t say for sure, Leader.”

Tord mumbles something under his breath before gesturing at the hidden door to his lab. “We can shut this behind us, should muffle more of the sound.”

Paul nods, and Tord steps over to pull the lever. As the wall raises, he sees Tom shifting uncomfortably beside his bed. 

He waves a hand, grabbing Tom’s attention. “You come in too. If it’s half as bad as Paul makes it sound I may need someone to hold me down.”

Paul huffs out a laugh at that, worrying the end of the cigarette between his teeth. “It won’t be all that, sir. But an extra set of hands never hurt.”

Tom nods, following after them again. Tord hits a button on the other side, sending the wall sliding back down behind them. The space is almost claustrophobically small when it’s closed with three grown men inside.

Tord sweeps diagrams and tools off the main workbench, hopping up to sit on it. Paul gestures for him to remove his hoodie as he sets down the bag to rifle through it, and Tord does so with some difficulty, slowly working it over his head. 

He tosses it at Tom and hits him full in the face, pulling him from his reverie. “Hey, put that by the stairs and make yourself useful.”

Tom huffs and drops the sweater, moving closer to the bench. “ _ I’m _ not your lackey here,” he reminds Tord. 

“Neither am I, right now.” Paul says deviously. “You’re at our mercy, Leader.”

Tord groans, rolling his eye. “Fantastic. Can we get on with it?”

Paul pulls the arm free from the bag, along with a smaller bag full of metal parts that click against each other.

“How is that staying on?” Tom asks curiously.

Paul shoots him a smile. “Well, thanks to our Leader’s quick thinking, we were able to plan for the replacement before we had to amputate. While we were in there we fused a metal rod to his humerus, allowing for a solid anchor point.”

“That means you’ll have to…?” Tom starts.

“Reopen the wound, yes.” Paul says. “The infection is actually a bit of a mixed blessing, Leader, because less tissue will have healed, making for less superfluous damage.”

“Lovely,” Tord says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“How…  _ will _ it heal in there?” Tom presses. “I mean, you can’t exactly change a bandage on it once it’s anchored, right?”

“That… is taken care of,” Paul replies cryptically, ducking his head to arrange some of the smaller parts.

Tom turns his eyes to Tord instead, raising a brow.

Tord reaches over with his good arm, tapping the small blue core in the palm of the arm. “When the power source is started, it will burn off the leftover energy it was using from the mech. After that, it will also rely on electrical impulses from my body. But in the process, the metal will reach immensely high temperatures.”

“Basically, his arm will be cauterized,” Paul explains. “It’s not perfect, but as long as you stay on the antibiotics, sir, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Tord scoffs. “I’m hardly concerned about burns at this point, Paul.”

“Uhh, what exactly is that power source?” Tom asks, gesturing at the arm.

“Classified,” Tord says, fixing him with a serious stare. Before Tom can reply, his face cracks into a crooked smile, and Tom returns the gesture, albeit a bit more apprehensively. 

“Alright sir, we can begin whenever you like,” Paul says. 

Tord sighs, and lays back against the workbench. 

Tom moves to stand by his head, eyeing all of the tools and pieces Paul has lined out.

“So, what’s changed, Paul?” Tord asks, his eye remaining fixed on the ceiling.

Paul holds up a metal cap, gesturing to the inside. “Well, to get the amount of precision and sensation you wanted, we have to connect the arm directly to your nervous system.”

“Jesus,” Tom breathes. 

Tord gives a thoughtful hum. “And that’s going to hurt, I assume? How much?”

“Yes,” Paul replies with a chuckle. “That’s the part we’re not sure of yet. It could feel like having thumbtacks placed in your skin,” he holds up the small metal prongs, “or it could feel like having your arm amputated again.”

Tord sighs, going boneless against the bench. “Excellent. Can’t you anesthetize me if that’s a concern?”

Paul shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. If there’s a problem with the connection we need to know immediately, not hours after.”

“Of course,” Tord says, earnestly. “Well, get to it then commander.”

Paul nods, lining up the last few necessities. He looks up at Tom, raising a brow. “I’d hold his shoulders, just in case.”

Tom blinks, looking down at Tord wide-eyed.

Tord shrugs, looking spectacularly unbothered by the whole situation. “Do what the man says, Tom.”

Tom places his hands over Tord’s shoulders, ready to push back should he meet any resistance. 

Without any warning beyond that, Paul presses in the first node. 

Tord winces, but gives no other sign of discomfort. “And how many of these are there?” he asks. 

“10 in total,” Paul says. “9 more to go, Leader.”

Tord lifts his head just enough to drop it with a dull thud against the metal workbench. “Lovely.”

The next several minutes pass in tense silence as Paul places the nodes in Tord’s arm. As the final one is pushed in, Paul straightens up, now reaching for a black roll of medical instruments. 

“That wasn't exceptionally painful,” Tord comments. 

Paul chuckles. “No, the painful part will be when the arm connects to your nervous system, depending on how your brain processes the signals.” 

“Oh, naturally.” Tord says, somewhat venomously. 

“How does the connection work?” Tom asks, getting the impression Tord is tiring of grilling the soldier. 

Paul pulls on a pair of glasses with small magnifying lenses in the middle. “Oh, it's some sort of electromagnetic something or other. You'll have to ask Pat about it.” 

With that, Paul brandishes a scalpel, glancing down at his leader. “This is going to be where the painful part starts, sir.”

“Bring it on,” Tord insists with an almost feral grin, eye glinting in the fluorescent light. 

Paul glances up at Tom and gives him one sharp nod before ducking back down. Tom takes the hint and readies himself to restrain Tord. 

Paul removes the bandages quickly, not sparing any kindness in pulling off the gauze. Then, without so much warning, he slices through the stitches at the end of Tord’s arm. 

Tord groans unhappily, but doesn't move beyond taking deeper, more measured breaths. 

“Alright,” Paul says, gently pressing against Tord’s arm, “hold this up as much as you can, it will help keep the bleeding down.”

Tord complies, his shoulder clearly straining as his severed muscles work to angle his arm up. 

Paul reaches over to the bag and pulls out an alcohol wipe, giving the wound a careful once-over. 

Tord howls, thrashing against Tom’s hands, which keep him pinned safely in place. “Jaevla- you couldn't have done that before you sliced me open?” he snarls. 

Paul shrugs, attention still on the arm. “I had to make sure the connection point was clear,” he says. 

And sure enough, when Tom glances down, his eyes catch a glinting piece of steel amongst the blood. He averts his eyes to the ceiling, hoping his input isn't necessary. Generally blood and guts don't affect him, but the medical nature of it makes his stomach turn. 

“Alright, now applying ligatures-”

“Liga-” Tord sputters, lifting his head up to look at the other man. “Should you really be doing that with one good eye?”

Paul looks up with a frown. “I can see fine!” he says defensively. 

“Faen-” Tord growls, dropping his head once more. “Just do it then.” 

“What do ligatures have to do with a  _ robotic _ arm?” Tom asks, eyes still on the ceiling.

“You’re thinking of ligaments,” Paul says, leaning in closer to Tord’s arm with two small, thin instruments. “Ligatures are a way of closing severed arteries after amputating. Cautery is very, ah, unpredictable in that sense.”

“ _Focus,_ ” Tord insists through gritted teeth, sweat beginning to break out on his forehead. 

“I can talk and work,” Paul says. “It’s a skill I had to acquire after being around you for years.”

“ _ Drit og dra, _ Paul.”

Paul laughs. “Back at you, Leader.”

“I don’t think I recognize that one,” Tom says, chancing a glance down. 

Paul sets aside the instruments with a chuckle, and reaches for the cap. “I think the sentiment is similar to ‘fuck off’. Are you ready to continue, sir?”

Tord nods once, jaw clenched tight. Paul places it over the end of Tord’s arm, and Tom can hear the nodes click into place. “Attaching to the humerus,” Paul says, leaning in closer to the arm again.

Tom turns his eyes skyward once more, the tension in Tord’s shoulders and the sound of metal on metal the only information he needs. 

Paul stands, and Tom chances a glance down. The iridescent red metal almost blends in with the still-raw wounds on Tord’s arm, but as he moves it glints under the harsh lights. 

Despite the cap making a very finite end to Tord’s arm, it makes it look slightly more… whole. Instead of just an open wound, it ends in a solid piece of metal, clearly apart of some greater machinery.

Tom again gets the strange sensation of recognizing the man in front of him as someone capable of ruling the world. 

The world tips around him a bit like he's drunk, but almost like just his head is swaying, the rest of his body remaining stable. 

It’s Paul’s voice that cuts through, asking, “Are you ready, sir?” He’s holding the familiar metal limb, looking expectantly at his leader.

Tord angles his head back, catching Tom’s attention. He looks down, and is surprised by the wild look in Tord’s eye. The adrenaline must really be hitting him now. “Grab my hoodie, would you?”

Tom shrugs and steps over to where he dropped it, holding it out to Tord’s good hand. Tord takes it by the sleeve, and after a moment of consideration, jams the fabric between his teeth. He nods at Paul and lays back on the table as if nothing happened.

Paul looks entirely nonplussed, and simply jerks his chin at Tord’s shoulders. Tom moves back into position, hands clamping over them. Tord is running feverishly hot, a sweat breaking out across his brow. The pain must’ve been getting to him more than he let on.

Paul bolts the arm to the cap, tightening each one in a specific pattern. He twists it to lie palm up, the reticulated metal flopping uselessly in his hands. He opens the brushed steel panel on the inner forearm, clipping wires together and twisting small gauges. 

When the panel slides shut, Paul stretches the arm out away from Tord, and then shuffles back. Immediately a low static hum fills the room, followed by the buzz of servomotors firing up.

The palm begins to glow, and one of the fingers gives a twitch. Tord gasps, body spasming. The hand clenches into a fist before Tom can blink, the entire mechanism trembling. Paul scribbles something into a notebook, muttering about pressure sensors and adjustments. 

Tom opens his mouth to ask about the core in the arm when he feels heat radiating over the right side of his body. He glances down to see the little blue mechanism glowing painfully bright.

It’s almost too hot to leave his hands on Tord’s shoulders, but suddenly Tord is bucking up against his grasp, howling past the gag. He starts to curl up on reflex, and Tom panics. If he pulls that arm against himself he’s going to be burnt beyond measure, and neither of them can exactly yank it away.

But Tord seems to fight the instinct and smacks it down flat against the metal table with a loud, resounding  _ THUD _ that drowns out his own low whining. 

And then the light is fading, along with most of the heat. It’s still radiating warmth, but it’s no longer scorchingly hot. Tord slumps back down, going entirely limp. Lifting his trembling left hand, he plucks the hoodie away from his face and drops it back to the ground. His eye slowly slips shut, and the hand falls against his chest.

Paul sidles up beside him, procuring a few more supplies from the mostly-emptied duffle bag, taking his pulse, temperature, and blood pressure in quick succession. At Tom’s worried glance, he gives a reassuring smile. “He’ll be fine. He’s running a bit hot, but it’s probably just from the stress and the infection.”

Paul packs away the tools, then moves back over to Tord. He glances a hand over the arm, but quickly retracts it. “Still too hot to move him,” he notes, mostly to himself. “Since he’s dead asleep, now may be a good time to remove his bandages, let me get a look at the healing.”

Tom jumps a little when he realizes Paul is staring at him. “Me?”

Paul shrugs. “Sure. I just had to attach his new arm, you pull some weight.”

It occurs to him after a moment of stunned silence that the soldier was making a joke, so Tom forces out a chuckle before leaning over Tord, gently unwrapping the bandages on his head. 

Paul watches with curiosity as the wounds are revealed. Tord’s face is an amalgamation of cuts and burns. Most of the blisters have popped and some of the scabs are starting to flake away from the more superficial lacerations that didn’t need stitches, but it still doesn’t look good. 

Where the redness is starting to recede, Tord’s skin is several shades darker, looking slightly pinched and leathery. Paul must see him staring, because he says, “He’s lucky it was mostly second degree. If it had all been third degree burns he wouldn’t have made it without skin grafting. And I can’t say we had time for that.”

Tom blinks before frowning at Paul. “Yeah, what the hell happened? He looked like you threw him to the wolves when he showed up here.”

Paul winces slightly before turning away, back to the bag. “Yes, well. The base was seriously damaged in the assault. Everyone was gathered there in anticipation of our prestigious Leader’s return with his grand weapon, so we could sweep up Europe once and for all.” 

He fishes something out of the bag and clenches it in his fist, expression pinched when he turns to face Tom once more. “We were only informed of the change of plans ten minutes before he touched down.”

“Jesus,” Tom breathes out.

“We gathered the oldest, most experienced, most loyal troops and went to the entrance. We fought. We… won. Against ourselves.” He sighs, opening his hand to reveal a penlight. “I still don’t understand it. But if Tord believes it was the right thing to do, I’ll stand by him.”

Tom frowns. “So, what…?”

“There was an attack. Some of the ones who fled, along with some of the few left to guard other bases, and a fair number of rebels teamed up for a final push. It failed, but we still had to remove Red Leader before his condition was compromised.” 

Paul moves to stand beside the table again, rolling the penlight between his fingers. “We scraped together all the supplies we thought he might need, gave you as much information as we could, threw him in the clothes he’d fought in, and ran. Well, flew. But we were pursued, and after a few good hits the plane started to go down.”

Paul chuckles, rubbing his forehead. “I barely had enough time to strap a parachute to him and kick him out the back before we nose-dived.”

“But you and the other pilot-?” Tom presses.

“There are two ejector seats,” Paul informs him. “It’s supposed to be one for Red Leader, and one for his pilot. So Patryck and I were fine. But we had no idea where Tord landed, and no way to find him.”

Paul leans in with the light, inspecting the stitches. “The rest is his story. I'm sure he won't miss an opportunity to tell it.”

Paul raises a hand to Tord’s face, placing a forefinger and thumb on either side of Tord’s bad eye, and gently pries the eyelids open. 

Tom is expecting a black pit, for there to be nothing where Tord’s eye used to be. But instead Paul shines the light and it’s red, red, red.

Tom lurches away, eyes sticking to the opposite wall. Paul chuckles, but Tom doesn't turn to check his reaction. “Sorry, suppose I should've warned you.” He clicks the light off, and Tom takes it as a signal to turn back around. “He's healing well. I'll move him to his bed and then see myself out.”

“I'll come with you,” Tom says. “Just in case any of this woke somebody up.”

Paul gives him a considering look before nodding once, looping an arm under Tord’s shoulders and knees, lifting him easily off the table. Tom walks down the stairs in front of them just in case the man misses a step, but they make it into the bedroom without incident. 

Tom pushes the lever back, concealing the lab as Paul deposits a still-unconscious Tord on his bed. With the prosthetic arm and exposed wounds, Tord manages to look both more fragile and more intimidating than Tom has ever seen him. 

Paul turns back to him and jerks his head, throwing the duffel bag over one shoulder. Tom opens the door and peers out, but the hall is empty and the house is dark and still. 

They beat a hasty retreat, and they're in the entryway when a voice behind them calls out. “Paul?”

Tom turns, seeing Edd standing in the hallway, looking tired and confused. “Uh-”

“Edd!” Paul crows, lifting a hand. “Long time no see.”

Tom looks skeptically between them. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah, we worked together occasionally,” Edd explains. “What are you doing here?”

Paul sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I lent some supplies to Tord years ago, and haven’t been able to get them from him. But since he’s in town again, I figured...”

Edd winces in sympathy. “So, you saw the state he’s in then?”

Paul shuffles a bit uncomfortably. “Er, yes. I didn’t realize there had been an accident?”

Edd waves a hand. “It’s a long story. I’ll let him tell it. Why did you come over so late?”

Tom watches the conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, head swinging between the two as his anxiety slowly bubbles up. The conversation was starting to slip out of their control, and there would be no way to explain to Edd that Tord is still involved with Red Army. Not now, at least.

Paul gives a strained chuckle. “Well, you know me. I’m a bit of a night owl, and I was in the neighborhood-”

“Speaking of,” Tom interrupts, drawing the other men’s attention. “Didn’t you say someone was expecting you?”

Paul shoots him a grateful look before turning back to Edd. “Ah, that’s right! So sorry Edd, I wish I could stay-”

Edd waves him off. “Don’t worry, you’re always welcome to come around. Good night, Paul.”

“Good night, Edd,” Paul replies before pulling open the front door, giving Tom a two-fingered salute as he exits.

“What’s going on?”

Tom jumps, not realizing Edd had stepped closer as Paul departed. Edd raises a brow, waiting for an answer.

“Uh. What do you mean?” Tom asks.

Edd frowns. “I know Paul didn’t leave any art supplies here, we would’ve found them when you moved your things into Tord’s room.”

Tom shrugs. “Maybe Tord packed them when he left?” he tries.

Edd raises a brow. “And maybe you’re also a decent liar.”

Tom winces slightly, and shifts uncomfortably. He’s far too sober for this.

Edd sighs, rubbing at an eye tiredly. “He told us about the soldiers, remember? I just didn't know Paul was one of them. What the hell are they doing here?”

“Paul just wanted to help with Tord’s injuries. Really,” he adds at Edd’s skeptical look. “I was with them the whole time. I would know if something was up.” 

Edd’s expression softens, but he says, “Tom, I’m sorry, but you may be the most oblivious person alive.”

Tom lets out an offended noise. “Oblivious to what?”

“Everything!” Edd shoots back, barely stifling a laugh.

“Come on, you can’t blame that on me this time,” Tom gripes, “I’ve literally been in this timeline less than a month! It’s a miracle I remember as much as I do.”

Edd blinks, looking surprised. “You’re… starting to remember?”

Tom rubs at the back of his neck. “Not like, stuff from before. Stuff from where I… came from, maybe? The future?” he sighs. “I don’t know, maybe Tord will finally be able to explain it when we get there.”

Edd cracks a tired smile. “So, we’re still together in the future?”

“Yeah, we’re all still friends,” Tom says, returning the smile.

There’s a pause before Edd chuckles. “Of course. I guess since Tord blew up the robot, he’s not going to become some cola-killing dictator now?”

Tom lets out a single laugh. “I wish it were that easy.”

Edd’s brows furrow and he closes the distance between them, resting a hand on Tom’s arm. “I wish it was too. For your sake.”

He’s surprised by the gesture, but Tom lays a hand over Edd’s, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “It all worked out in the end, right?”

Edd smiles. “Well, from the sound of it, things could be a lot worse.”

Tom hums in agreement, letting Edd’s fingers slip away from his. “Now I’m just the one with amnesia instead of Matt.”

“Well, as long as you don't forget where the house is, I think it'll be okay.”

Tom winces a little bit. “Matt… actually did forget where the house was once.” 

Edd looks slightly horrified. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He sighs. “I think we should be really glad Tord didn't invent that memory eraser.” 

Tom nods. “You can say that again. Maybe I'll see if he can't throw together something to get my memories  _ back. _ ” 

Edd laughs before stifling a yawn. “If he does please make sure I'm there when you use it?”

Tom lets out a confused laugh. “Why?”

Edd grins mischievously. “I just want to see the look on your face.”

“What does that mean?”

Edd is still grinning as he shrugs, turning back to his bedroom door. “See ya in the morning, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Edd.” The door clicks into place, and Tom takes a moment to appreciate the quiet stillness of the house. 

Tom sighs, walking down the hall and letting himself into the shared bedroom. It’s silent except for the quiet whirring of servos, and the occasional metallic tap. 

Tom looks up at Tord, now sitting up on his bed, eye downcast at his new arm, slowly moving it this way and that. 

“Well,” Tom starts, stepping further into the room. “How is it?” 

Tord looks up at him wide-eyed, and blinks owlishly. “It's quite impressive,” he says. “I didn't know Patryck was capable of this sort of precision. Though the connection is more painful than I expected.”

Tom sits on his own bed across the room, eyeing the limb more warily now. “How so?”

Tord winces. “The phantom pains are worse. My brain can't quite connect that this is my arm now. That, paired with the metal implants…” He looks down at the arm again, flipping his hand so it rests palm-up and clenching the fingers slowly. “It’s bearable. I'll heal.”

“It’s weird, seeing you with that thing,” Tom admits, staring at the arm as Tord flexes his fingers and turns it over and over.

Tord raises a brow. “Why’s that?”

“You’re closer to the Tord I see in my memories now,” Tom says. “Though… I suppose they aren’t really my memories, are they? If this isn’t my timeline?”

Tord looks thoughtful for a moment before shooting him a lopsided smile. “Well, they’re yours now.”

Tom’s eyes move up to Tord’s. “What if it was always me? And I had to move between timelines for things to work?”

Tord chuckles, dropping the hand back to his side. “It’s possible. You do give me quite the hard time in the future.”

Tom smiles wryly, flopping back onto his bed and gazing up at the ceiling. “That definitely sounds like me.”

A comfortable silence falls between them, only broken by the quiet sounds of Tord’s arm. 

“Have I finally convinced you that the timeline is right now?” Tord asks. “Will you relax already?”

Tom chuckles, not bothering to lift his head. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

He lets his eyes shut, basking in the moment. He could get used to waking up in the same room every day as long as it meant staying in this timeline. 

The springs of Tord’s bed squeak and Tom cracks open an eye, peering over at him. He stands beside his bed, and gingerly picks up a near-empty glass of water from his side table with his robotic hand. 

He lifts it and turns it in his hand slowly, giving it a thoughtful look. After a moment the glass shatters in his grip, falling to the floor in a shower.

Tom pushes himself up, raising a brow. Tord flexes the hand before glancing at Tom, looking only mildly sheepish. “It’s going to need some adjustments.”

Tom doesn’t say anything, just watches as Tord strolls across the room toward his bed. He approaches the foot, where Susan is leaning, and picks her up by the neck, bringing her over to Tom.

He shuffles back to sit against his pillows, taking the bass and giving Tord a quizzical look.

“Play us out?” Tord asks with another lopsided smile.

Tom snorts, slinging the strap over his head and giving a string a single pluck. “I thought you hated my playing.”

Tord shrugs and moves back to lay on his own bed. “I just hate your taste in music. Besides, some sound would be good right now.”

Tom plays something fast and complicated first to get himself warmed up, fingers sliding up and down the fretboard with a frenzied energy, in spite of the calm look on his face.

He gradually slows down as they both start to drift, yawning occasionally as he tries to remember a key change or the difference between a minor and seventh chord. 

When he hears a snore from the other side of the room, the song he’s playing fades until he lays a palm over the strings, silencing them. He shuffles down just enough to set Susan aside and lay fully on his pillow.

Yeah, he could get used to this. 


	7. Epilogue

Tord lifts his head with a groan, squinting against the bright lights of his office. He must've fallen asleep at his desk, realizes. He straightens up, stretching until his back pops. Not very becoming of the man who unified the world, now is it? 

He sighs and stands, but pauses before he can round his desk. His office is… different. It wouldn't be unlike his friends to rearrange the furniture to mess with him, but… 

The whole room is larger than he remembers, the decorations more grandiose and extravagant. He frowns, feeling disoriented. What's going on?

“Red Leader,” a familiar voice addresses him from the main door. 

Tord peers up, trying to keep his composure. But he sucks in a breath involuntarily at what he sees. 

Patryck stands at attention, looking tired beyond his years. An ugly scar runs down one side of his face, across his jaw and down his neck. And one of his legs is replaced with a prosthetic similar in build to Tord’s. 

“Yes?” Tord tries, unsure of how to behave around this unfamiliar Patryck. 

Pat relaxes infinitesimally, as if he had been expecting a strike. “The prisoner is ready.”

Tord’s heartbeat quickens. They haven't had to take a prisoner at this level in years. What was happening? “Of course. Lead the way, soldier.”

Patryck nods, and turns back down the hall. 

Tord glances around as they walk. The rest of the compound- because Tord has realized this certainly isn't his capitol building- is made of drab concrete, completely at odds with the office they just exited. 

“Are you… feeling alright, sir?” Patryck asks as they stride down the corridor.

Tord has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at the other man to mind his own business. What was wrong with him?

“You… caught me at an inopportune time, Commander. But I’m quite alright.”

Pat nods. “Right, sir. I just-” he stops, seeming to think better of it. 

“What is it?” Tord asks.

Pat leads him through a series of turns as the pause drags out, the hallways slowly growing narrower as they proceed. Tord feels his stomach twist as he recognizes what this is. A sprawling military complex the likes of which he hasn't had to occupy in years. 

Even at the height of their conflict his army never manufactured anything like this. His head was spinning, but he kept his composure. You don't rule the world for the better part of a decade and a half and not learn to keep your wits about you. 

“The prisoner also seemed… disoriented, when we captured him.” 

Tord grunted. “You think something strange is going on?”

Patryck looks almost nervous again. “I… I’m not sure, sir. I think he was just bluffing, because he changed his tune eventually.”

Tord nods, thoughts swirling around his brain. He has a pretty decent idea of who this ‘prisoner’ is, but he doesn’t want to entertain the thought. Maybe it’s all a coincidence, or this is some strange dream.

When the hallways become almost claustrophobically small, Pat stops and unlocks a thick iron door. “He's in here, sir.” 

Tord nods and steps through, sucking in a sharp breath as he does. Tom is kneeling on the floor, arms cuffed behind him, blood and drool spilling onto his shirt. 

The door shuts behind him, startling them both. Tom looks up, and his digital eyes narrow into a glare. “ _ You, _ ” he spits. 

Tord feels properly sick now. Even their friends wouldn't go so far as to actually beat the shit out of Tom for a prank. And this building, the office, the empty corridors. 

“What is going on?” Tord chokes out. 

Tom curls his lip. “I could ask you the same thing. What the hell  _ happened? _ ”

Tord’s eye goes wide. “Thank god, you remember too?”

Tom groans, doubling over as if to put his head in his hands, despite the restraints. “I remember waking up here with the worst headache I’ve ever had, and stumbling around trying to figure out what happened, when your little minions decided I was their tackling dummy.”

Tord shakes his head, but Tom presses on before he can interject. “And now I can’t decide if you’re my friend or if I hate you- I mean, more than usual. It’s like I have two conflicting memories of… of everything, but I’m starting to lose more and more-”

“Tom, do you have any idea what changed? What could’ve triggered this?” Tord asks.

Tom frowns. “Well, gee, I dunno, maybe it’s the fact that Edd stole your precious time machine after your stunt with the cola production. Was it worth the little jab, you bastard?”

Tord freezes. That's right. Tom told him a long time ago that Edd came back in time after Red Leader banned cola to try and kill his past self. But he had assumed, like Tom had back then, that that had been the act of a cruel tyrant trying to get back at an old friend. 

But he had just done the same. Dismantling corporations meant all of them, even the ones that made Edd’s beloved fizzy drinks. 

So. He had started all of this. Not some different Red Leader from a timeline that was all wrong, just him. Tord. And in sending Edd back to do something drastic, he had triggered all the events that would lead  _ him _ to start the loop that Tom would have to suffer through. 

He honestly might vomit, he thinks as he tries hard not to sway in place. He did this, every single bit of it. Fuck. 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Tom snaps. “Just going to fling me back to fix your fuck-up for you?”

“Tom, you have to believe that I’m this close to figuring it out,” Tord says, “I’ll find you in the right loop again, and hopefully sooner rather than later this time.”

Tom’s digital eyes roll. “Like I’m going to trust anything you say, you commie fuck-” He jerks at the restraints, but the metal holds firm.

A sick anger bubbles up in Tord’s stomach, and his lip curls almost of it’s own accord. “You watch your tone when you speak to your Leader,” he growls, stepping closer. His head is throbbing, like he’s got two brains shoved into his skull. Why is he losing his grip like this? Since when did he make his friends address him as “Leader” behind closed doors? What changed to turn him into  _ this? _

Tom sneers up at him, stilling his movements. “Oh, shove it. We’re going to stop Edd, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

We. That’s right, Tom and Matt go after Edd together, don’t they? Then where is-

A gun fires outside the door, followed by a gurgled scream. Tord whips around as the door is flung open, revealing Matt with an iron jaw and robotic eye. 

Tord freezes for just a moment, taking in his friend's appearance. Tom always needed the visor sooner or later, but what made Matt need-?

His momentary pause is all it takes for Matt to recharge the glowing blaster in his hands and fire it at Tord, hitting him in the gut. 

Tord goes down hard, howling like a wounded animal as he clutches at his side. He curses and thrashes onto his good side, watching as Matt unshackles Tom, pulling him to his feet. 

They both barely spare a glance at Tord before exiting the room. “So long,  _ Red Leader _ ,” Tom spits over his shoulder as they leave. 

Tord grits his teeth, forcing out another curse as he pulls his bloody hands away from his stomach. 

Well, that's worse than he expected. He immediately replaces his hands, bile rising in his throat. He's no stranger to gore and entrails, but it's a little different when it's your own hanging out. 

Using just his legs and trying to keep the rest of his body as still as possible, Tord kicks himself over to the door, peering out. 

Patryck is dead, his chest nothing but a bloody cavity. 

Tord winces. Couldn't even blow his head off and grant the man a quick death, could they? 

“Leader!” Another familiar voice calls down the opposite end of the hallway. 

Tord twists, shouting at the lightning-hot agony in his side as he does so, trying to find the source of the shout.

Paul is running towards them, eyes wide. “What the hell happened?” 

Tord tries to reply, but it's like his voice speaks without him. “Damn rebels,” he spits out. “How the fuck did they get in here?”

Tord knows how they got here. They're his friends, of course they live in the capitol, what is he saying-

“I don't know sir, they managed to slip past all of the security-” Paul looks past Tord, his face going pale.

Tord doesn't have to turn to know exactly what Paul is looking at. “Hey,” he says, voice returning to his control, and falling to a less harsh register. “Ignore it. Help me now, okay?”

Paul looks shocked for a moment before nodding. Grieve later, act now. It's the first lesson good soldiers like Paul learn in battle.

“What do you need, sir?”

Tord pauses. “Take me to my lab,” he decides. 

Paul frowns. “Sir? You don't intend to go after the rebels in your state do you?”

Tord’s mouth moves of its own accord once more. “Are you questioning your leader, Commander?” 

Paul shakes his head, then draws out a handkerchief from an inner pocket of his jacket. “At least let me staunch your wound, Leader.” 

Tord waves a hand, not trusting his voice. He's losing control of the timeline already. He needs to act quickly, and if it means not arguing with Paul then so be it. 

Paul helps Tord move onto his side, and pauses for a moment before reaching towards the corpse on the other side of him. 

He pulls another kerchief from Pat’s pocket and folds them together before removing Tord’s ruined belt and pressing them over the wound. 

Tord hisses, gritting his teeth so hard he's almost concerned he'll crack a molar. 

Paul quickly whips off his own belt, cinching it around Tord’s waist to hold the bundle of fabric in place.

“There,” he says as he draws one of Tord’s arms over his shoulders. “That should keep the bleeding down to a more survivable level for a few minutes.” 

Tord grunts as they stand, struggling to get his wobbling legs under him. “Your sense of humor never fails to amuse me, Commander,” he says dryly. 

Paul lets out a hesitant chuckle as he begins to walk, Tord half-limping, half-dragging alongside him. 

They make it to the lab after several truly agonizing minutes, and Tord’s vision is beginning to narrow. He won’t make it much longer. As Paul deposits him at his workbench, Tord realizes he doesn’t see the time manipulation device he’d been working on for this very day.

Of course not. The Red Leader of this timeline wouldn’t want anyone causing the loop that would return the original timeline. The warring sensations of satisfaction and horror are giving him a headache. If the blood loss doesn’t kill him, being dropped into the body of a version of himself that’s truly gone mad with power will. 

Yanking back his left sleeve, he discovers he’s still wearing the prototype he’d been working on when he passed out at his desk. It was supposed to help him get to the right loop immediately, so Tom wouldn’t have to suffer.

But if he can’t start it in the first place-- Red spots are filling his vision, and a cold sweat is breaking out across his skin. Now or never. This is is only chance.

He prays the thing has two uses in it before he slaps the button. He hears Paul shout as he tips to the side, his stomach dropping and his world going dark as he passes out.

 

“-ed leader? Red-....”

“-ord!”

Tord bolts upright with a gasp, hand clutching at his side. The phantom pains burn at his nerves but… he's whole. Even his arm and eye are returned to him, and the world is slightly muddled as he readjusts to stereo vision. 

He turns his head, and is amazed at what he sees. 

Paul and Pat stand beside his bunk, looking 20 years younger and vaguely concerned. 

“Are you alright, sir?” Paul asks. 

Tord shakes off the sense of deja vu, trying to regain some modicum of dignity. “Of course, Paul. Just didn't sleep terribly well.” 

He moves past them, pausing halfway through retrieving his uniform before Pat gets his attention. 

“Today is the big day, sir,” Pat says excitedly. 

Of course. This is the day that starts it all. The loop, Tom, the robot. Maybe, just maybe he can get it right on the first try this time. 

Tord frowns as his memories go slightly fuzzy, his ears ringing dully as he loses his train of thought. He pulls his old red hoodie over his head, barely registering what either of his men are saying. 

It's only when Paul starts talking about drop points that he remembers. Today. The robot. The plan that will secure his army’s place in the world. 

He sits down to pull on his shoes, feeling almost as if he's forgetting something. But certainly not? They've gone over this dozens of times. Assert his place back with his friends, get them distracted, take the mech, and leave no trace. 

He grins, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Commander,” he says, interrupting them. 

“Yes, Leader?” Patryck asks. 

“Ready the men to mobilize. 48 hours.”

This is the day that will change everything as they know it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can say that again
> 
> thank you all so so much! all the support and lovely comments have meant the world to me, so i hope the ending lived up to your expectations! if you've got questions/requests/keysmashes to send my way my tumblr is mlrrormlrror! <3


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